Drink Deeply
by SkylaraK
Summary: Booth and Brennan explore their fledgling relationship while trying to solve the murders of several hikers found in a storage space. Fluffy case file. Chapter 14 Reposted. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

This is my first attempt at a case file. Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Sorry this is short, the second chapter should be up in a day or two.

Disclaimer: When I tried telling people that I created Bones, they didn't believe me. I suppose they're right.

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The rough silver walls, aside from being marred with scuffs and dings from years of rough treatment, have been painted by an unskilled hand. Crude trees, barely more than wide strokes of deep brown paint, rise from the concrete floor and waver along the hills and valleys of the corrugated steel as if the branches are swaying languidly in a breeze. But the air is still, no breeze stirs the rancid reek that fills the room. Crimson paint runs in dried rivulets down the branches of these lifeless trees, gruesome blood that has never flowed in human veins. One wall bears a clumsy figure, sheathed in a hooded robe of almost luminescent glossy white paint. The figure has no hands or feet, and only a black oval where a face should be.

Outside, voices. A door slams shut, and then another. An engine starts.

After a moment of near silence, with only the quiet hum of the car to fill this grim void, a scream of metal upon metal echoes through the room. The barren trees vibrate as if filling with long-awaited power, and where the car has collided with the structure, the door bends inward, thin metal warped by a careless driver.

The occupants of this room do not react to the violence that has rent their resting place. They are long past the stage of caring. They wait, always patient, for someone to find them. For someone to give them the voices that they lost so long ago.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for your patience waiting for this next chapter. Hopefully it'll explain the previous chapter a smidge. More to come soon. Reviews are very much appreciated, and if anyone wants to beta for me, please let me know. Thanks!

Disclaimer: If I made money writing this stuff, I'd have a much nicer house, wardrobe, car, etc.

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Temperance Brennan sat at her desk, feeling slightly overwhelmed. Five sets of skeletal remains had been delivered to her lab that morning, and two more bodies would be en route from the medical examiner's within a few days. Normally she would be able to take this all in stride, but this was not a case for the FBI. She had been called in to help the Springfield Police Department, and she hated working directly with local police.

It had been a rough start to a Monday morning.

And now Angela was harassing her, trying to convince her to go see some movie. She had been to see it with Jack and for some strange reason, Angela thought that she and Booth should go see it. Aside from the fact that it sounded too much like a date, movies weren't really something she did with Booth. They were more likely to spend a late night eating takeout and talking.

"Come on, Bren. It's based on a true story so it's almost, you know, educational. And no matter what you say, I know you'd love to see some sweaty, nearly naked men."

To be honest, the idea of half-naked, muscular men was rather appealing. While she knew that neither she nor Booth were ready to act on their attraction to each other, she had been thinking of him a lot lately, and the tension was getting to her. But all that was beside the point, she had to finish the preliminary reports in front of her so she could start processing the remains in depth. The paperwork that came with her job always irritated her, and to have to do five sets at once was even more aggravating.

"Angela, I'm sure the movie was fascinating, but I really have to finish these reports. And isn't there something that you should be doing?" she questioned.

Angela shrugged. "Until you and Zack finish the tissue markers or give me something else to work on, nope." She paused. "I bet Booth would really like it, too."

Glancing up at her friend, Brennan frowned. "Why would Booth care what you're working on? This isn't even his case."

"No, Bren, the movie. He'd like it, ask him to take you to see it," Angela explained.

"What would I like?" Booth's voice from the entrance to her office startled both women. Her partner stood leaning against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets. Angela looked at him appraisingly, a scheming look forming on her face.

"Ange..." warned Brennan.

Sighing, Angela stood, straightening out her skirt as she moved towards the door. "Oh, nothing," she said. "Just this movie Jack and I saw. It was so hot, when we got home, the sex was even--"

"Angela!" Brennan exclaimed, as Booth's face flushed and he cleared his throat.

"That's great, Angela, thanks," he said. He stepped inside the office to make room for Angela to pass, and after she was gone, he turned to his partner.

"What's with all the bodies out there?" he queried.

"Oh, just a case we got today."

When he didn't respond immediately, she looked up to see him frowning in puzzlement. Brennan raised her eyebrows at him.

"Did I miss something? I didn't realize we had a case."

She stared at him, almost incredulous. "You do know that I occasionally help other law enforcement agencies with cases, right?" Not that she liked it, but it had been made clear to her that this particular case had drummed up enough media attention to require her assistance, whether she wanted to help or not.

Booth's shoulders slumped slightly. Stifling a smile at her partner's obvious disappointment, Brennan put down her pen and crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. Maybe there was a way to get him involved.

"You know, it's actually a very interesting case, from what I hear. Although I haven't been allowed to the crime scene, which is rather frustrating," she began, her eyes on him, trying to gauge his interest.

She decided to continue. "Seven bodies were found in a public storage facility in Springfield, Virginia. I think there was some damage done to the space by a car somehow, and that's how they found the bodies. I heard that, aside from the bodies, the walls were painted strangely and I think they might have found some unusual paraphernalia."

"So they're not letting you see anything other than the remains? You must be pretty mad," he chuckled.

Shrugging, she contemplated his assumption. She was definitely irritated that she was being confined to the lab, but she was more frustrated with having to deal with the detectives involved in the case. They were condescending, arrogant, and rude. Actually, it was sort of like how Booth had been when they had first started working together. Thankfully, most of that had changed. He could still be an arrogant bastard sometimes, but she supposed that was part of his personality and not a sign of how he viewed her.

"Not that I don't appreciate the visit, Booth, but did you need something? I have a lot of work to do," she asked him, hoping she didn't sound too impolite.

"Oh! Right. Yes, I brought you some lunch. I thought maybe that we could, uh…" he paused, almost nervously. "But, you know, you've got work to do, why don't I just leave it with you?"

Brennan smiled, pleased that he had thought of her. It had taken some time, but lately she had started enjoying the little ways that Booth took care of her.

"No, I can spare 15 minutes to have lunch with you, it's alright," she told him, feeling her cheeks warm slightly. She closed the files on her desk and rose. "How about we sit on the mezzanine?"

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Lunch with Booth had left Brennan in a much better mood. She wondered momentarily at the significance of the effect he had on her, but had quickly dove back into her work. The afternoon had passed quickly, with the team working efficiently to process the remains. They hadn't heard anything from the medical examiner's office, though Brennan had already left them a message requesting their preliminary reports as soon as possible. She wanted to compare the injuries of the more recent murder victims with the ones already at the Jeffersonian.

Brennan was bent over one of the tables, examining the third victim. She didn't hear Zack approach and nearly jumped when he spoke.

"Dr. Brennan, I found an anomaly on the first victim's C4," he told her.

She nodded at him and followed him back to the first set of remains. "Let's see it."

Zack pointed to the image on the monitor next to the exam table and she immediately noticed the pronounced dimple on the bone.

"It could just be a congenital anomaly, or it could be indicative of a puncture wound to the neck," he theorized.

Brennan looked thoughtfully at the monitor, then leaned over to take a closer look at the cervical vertebra itself. After a moment, she straightened and faced her colleague.

"Good job. We'll check the other victims to see if they have a similar mark," she directed.

They both moved on to different tables, checking the cervical vertebrae on their respective sets of remains. She peered at the bones closely, searching. There, along the anterior surface.

"Zack, this one does have the same marking on C4 as the first. Does yours?"

"Yes, Dr. Brennan," he answered.

After inspecting the last two sets of remains and finding similar marks, she instructed Zack to start coming up with possible weapons, offering him a few suggestions to start with. She tossed her gloves in the biohazard bin and strode off towards her office. The medical examiner should know whether the two more recent victims had similar injuries, and she was sick of waiting around for them.

As she walked, she began to get angrier about the whole situation. It was bad enough that she had to work with some random cops and that she was being kept out of the field. She had protested the fact that the other two bodies had been sent to the medical examiner's—Cam was perfectly capable of handling fresher corpses. It wasn't her call, fine. But her ability to do her job depended on her having all of the information possible, and having the victims at two different facilities was complicating things beyond all reason.

A familiar voice echoed throughout the lab.

"Hey, Bones! Where are ya?"

Sighing inwardly, she picked up her pace. "Not right now, Booth," she called over her shoulder.

"Hey, slow down!" he shouted. She heard his footsteps quicken behind her.

"I don't have time for this. Come back later," she muttered, as he caught up to her.

"No, wait, Bones. Listen. I have good news."

Why couldn't he take the hint? If she didn't call the ME now while she was angry, she wouldn't be nearly as effective at intimidating them. She reached her office and contemplated closing the door behind her, but decided that would be too rude.

"Booth, I really don't care that the Sabres beat the Phillies or whatever it is you're all excited about," she complained.

From Booth, a groan. "First of all, the Sabres are a hockey team and the Phillies...you know what, nevermind. Will you just listen to me for a second?"

Brennan pivoted in front of her desk and folded her arms across her chest. She glared at him, waiting for him to share his news and get it over with.

"Will you stop pouting already? You're worse than Parker," he groused. "You'll like my news, I promise."

Puffing her cheeks slightly with a huff, she moved behind her desk and sat in her chair. She schooled her features into a semblance of calm.

"Okay, let's have it."

"Well, I just heard some interesting news about the case you're working on," he paused, waiting for her nod to continue. "The medical examiner has ID'ed the victims. Bryan Lessard, 24, of Falls Church, Virginia, last seen three weeks ago hiking towards Fox's Gap, in Maryland. And Amy Chouinard, 32, of Norwood, Massachusetts. Last seen two months ago hiking near Mount Greylock, also in Massachusetts."

She could hardly believe her luck. "So this means..." she trailed off.

"Yeah, I'm on the case," he grinned.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: The bank statement I got today proves that I don't own Bones.

Thanks to FauxMaven for her wonderful work as a beta.

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_Previously..._

"_Well, I just heard some interesting news about the case you're working on," he paused, waiting for her nod to continue. "The medical examiner has ID'ed the victims. Bryan Lessard, 24, of Falls Church, Virginia, last seen three weeks ago hiking towards Fox's Gap, in Maryland. And Amy Chouinard, 32, of Norwood, Massachusetts. Last seen two months ago hiking near Mount Greylock, also in Massachusetts."_

_She could hardly believe her luck. "So this means..." she trailed off._

"_Yeah, I'm on the case," he grinned._

"Where are the files? I want to see pictures of the scene and if the local police did any interviews today. I don't know anything about the suspects, and what about the bodies at the ME's?" she rushed, thrilled that she'd be able to be more involved. And work with Booth, a nagging part of her brain reminded her.

"Whoa, slow down, Bones. The files are in the car. It's late; why don't you tell everyone to go home and we can go back to my place?" he offered.

Brennan raised her eyebrows at Booth. She knew what he meant, but she also knew if she paused a moment to give him time to realize how that sounded, he would get all flustered.

As if on cue, a light flush crept across his cheeks. "I mean, we can bring the files and go over them there, you know, where we'll be a little more comfortable than, uh, here in your office," he corrected himself.

She nodded solemnly at him and told him that was a good idea. After packing away her things, they headed out into the lab to find the rest of the team. Brennan let everyone know they were heading out early and told them to do the same.

As they headed towards the exit, Booth slipped an arm around her shoulder. It was a gesture he had only made a few times before, and it still made her vaguely uneasy. It wasn't that she minded his touch, but she found she had trouble concentrating with his warm body pressed to her side.

"You must be so excited to have me on the case, huh, Bones?" he grinned at her.

There's that arrogance again. She shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose."

"You suppose? Come on, I bet you nearly peed your pants when I told you." She could feel the rumble of his chuckle, and it sent little shivers through her.

"I would never do such a thing, Booth. Urinary incontinence is rather uncommon in women my age," she told him.

Booth groaned. "It's a figure of speech, alright? So you're saying you weren't at all disappointed this morning when you found out it wasn't my case?"

"Eh." She was having fun with him, although she wasn't quite sure whether he knew she was teasing.

"Ouch, Bones. What a way to hurt a man's ego," he said, pouting at her.

"Booth, your ego's so big this won't even make a dent, don't worry," she bit back.

He slipped his arm off her shoulder and tweaked her side, and she laughed, slapping his hand away.

"Okay, maybe I'm a little glad it's FBI jurisdiction now," she conceded. "But I might change my mind if you keep tickling me."

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The meager file was spread out on the coffee table in front of them, their earlier meal of Indian takeout having already been cleared away. Booth reclined on the couch, his back to the corner and legs encroaching on Brennan's space. Apparently he was comfortable with letting her sift through the files, and as she did, she occasionally read pieces aloud.

"It says here the storage space was rented three years ago. So those bodies could have been there the whole time without anyone noticing? That seems unlikely," she commented.

"Well, storage spaces like that are pretty airtight, if you're talking about smells. And there are surveillance cameras, but I imagine it would be pretty easy to stuff a body into a giant box labeled 'Christmas decorations' or something," Booth responded.

"Did the police go over the security tapes?"

"The last victim was killed three weeks ago, give or take. They don't keep the video that long, they record over it."

Brennan nodded and picked up a stack of photographs. Leaning back on the couch, she started flipping through them. The mural painted on the walls was eerie and she felt unsettled looking at it. Bleeding trees, and that strange white figure. In the back of her mind, she was thankful that she was finally able to see what it looked like: this was fascinating, in a morbid sort of way.

"I'll have Angela look at these pictures tomorrow. I don't know that she'll be able to tell us anything, but it's worth a shot," she said, more to herself than Booth.

Sitting up to place the pictures back in the file, she picked up another piece of paper and began reading. The report of the incident leading to the discovery seemed a little incomplete. Unless it was noted elsewhere, the police had only interviewed one of the people in the car that had crashed into the door to the storage space. She knew she had good reason to dislike those detectives: not only were they rude, but apparently they were incapable of doing their job properly.

Her neck, which had been bothering her for most of the evening, gave a fresh twinge of pain and she reached up to rub the sore muscles. She used to be able to examine remains closely all day without her back or neck aching, but she supposed this is what came with age.

"It's a good thing those people backed into the door. Will you interview the passenger of the car?" she queried, glancing at her partner.

Booth's eyes flicked open and his gaze settled on her hand, still massaging her neck. "Yes, tomorrow. Does your neck hurt?"

She shrugged. "Just a little. It's been a long day."

"Do you want something for it? I have acetaminophen and ibuprofen," he offered.

"I took some before we left, I'll be fine. You don't have to mother me, Booth."

"Okay, I'll thank you for not calling me a mother again, Bones. I'm just trying to help," he grumbled as he sat up, edging closer to her. She watched him warily.

"Here, let me see," he told her. Booth removed her hand gently, placing his own warm, rough hand on her neck. "Here?" he asked.

She nodded, and in response he began gently rubbing the muscles at the base of her neck with his thumbs. His palms rested on her shoulders, the pads of his fingers brushing against her clavicle as his thumbs circled and circled.

"How is that?" he questioned. "Is it helping at all?"

Again, she nodded, not trusting her voice. She felt herself relaxing into him and her eyes drifted shut. Booth gradually increased the pressure. The only sound in the room was the soft sound of his skin against hers and she found it lulling. Before she could stop herself, a low moan slipped from her lips, and at the breaking of the silence, she froze. This was entirely too un-partnerly. If this didn't stop now, she knew where it would lead.

Brennan cleared her throat.

"Wow, thanks, Booth, I feel great," she said, essaying a cheerful tone. She pulled herself off the couch and to her feet. She forced herself to meet his eyes and smiled at him. He sat still, gazing up at her, a slightly puzzled look on his face.

"I'm really tired, I had better go home. I'm sure tomorrow will be a busy day," she told him and nodded, as if to convince herself as well.

"Oh, yeah, sure," he mumbled, and stood to see her out. "I have an appointment to interview that other witness first thing, and then I was going to head out to Falls Church. Do you want to come along?"

She agreed to meet him at his office midmorning and left his apartment as quickly as her manners would allow. Once out of the building and in the fresh air, she paused and took a deep breath.

Not entirely sure why she had rushed out of there so quickly, she nonetheless felt relief at being outside in the open air. It didn't make any sense, really. She knew that he was as aware of the sexual tension between them as she was, so logically, she shouldn't have a problem with their physical relationship progressing. In past relationships, she rarely felt hesitant around men she was interested in, but everything was so different with Booth. She resolved to spend some time figuring this out. Maybe Angela could help.

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The next day found Brennan in the lab early. She had had the thought that if two of the victims were missing hikers, maybe the others were as well. It was a theory that had paid off well, for in her first hour at work she had been able to identify two of the victims, and was rapidly narrowing her search for the third. As people began arriving for the day, she decided it was probably late enough to call Booth with the IDs.

On her way to her office, Brennan nearly bumped into Zack, who was looking slightly flustered.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Dr. Brennan," Zack apologized. "Hodgins and Angela...well, Hodgins was late picking me up."

Suppressing a smirk, she nodded at her colleague. "It's no problem. I've ID'ed the first two victims, you'll find the information with the remains. I started working on the third, I'm sure you can pick up where I left off. I've got to call Booth."

"Yes, Dr. Brennan," he said, and Zack headed off to the platform.

In her office, Brennan sat in her chair and picked up the phone. Her fingers found the speed dial button automatically. Still feeling vaguely embarrassed about having left in such a rush the night before, she hesitated. She abruptly placed the phone back in its cradle. This new awkwardness she sometimes felt around Booth was getting irritating. It was true that she had feelings for him that went beyond their partnership and even their friendship, but she didn't understand why that would change how she acted around him.

Brennan sighed and picked up the phone once again. She dialed Booth's cell phone and waited for him to answer, an annoying anxiousness rolling around in her stomach.

"Booth." His voice was clear and sure, and right now, she resented his confidence.

"I've identified two of the victims, and we should have a third within a half hour or so," she started without preamble.

"Wow, great job. Thanks, Bones. Listen, I'm just about to interview that witness. I don't think it'll take more than a half hour or so."

"Okay, I'll meet you in your office in forty-five minutes," she told him.

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	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I'm not even going to bother.

Thanks to FauxMaven for beta'ing this.

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The morning traffic had died down, though the street outside the Hoover Building was still fairly busy. People in suits, couples pushing strollers, and groups of school children filled the sidewalks. It was a warm day, perfect for walking instead of using the car or Metro. Of course, Temperance Brennan normally walked, barring rain or snow. It was one of Booth's guilty pleasures, standing at his window, watching the streets for his partner. More often than not, he was the one going to the Jeffersonian, but when he knew that she was headed his way, he always tried to watch for her out his window. Even from a few floors up, he could see the tempting sway of her hips, and there was something strangely exciting about watching her when she was unaware. It was the same feeling he got when he studied her as she concentrated on her bones or the computer or even her meals. Stolen moments watching her when he was able to let his guard down.

There she was, crossing Constitution to come up 10th. She was still two blocks away, but he could easily pick her out of a crowd. Brennan would say it was his sniper training, but he knew it was something else. When you spend enough time watching a person you get to know them better than they know themselves.

Booth figured he knew his partner pretty well. He knew all of her smiles: the one when she was surprised and even delighted about something, the shy smile when she was embarrassed, the one that meant she was desperately trying not to cry. He knew the sounds she made when she was really enjoying a meal, and the sounds she made when she was about to strangle him. He knew that she had no clue about pop culture, but was trying to learn—even though she didn't want anyone to know she was. He knew that she could easily pronounce seven syllable words, but sometimes messed up little turns of phrase. And he even knew that sometimes she pretended to get things wrong, because she liked it when he got frustrated.

Walking quickly, she was nearing the front of his building. One arm swung at her side while the other carried several files. He could imagine the way the files pressed to her chest would accentuate her curves, and he debated whether or not it would be inappropriate to pray that she'd still be holding her files that way by the time she made it to his office. As she left his line of sight, entering the building, Booth sighed and left the window. Sitting down in his chair, he put his feet up on the desk. His pants slipped down his legs, exposing his socks. Today he was wearing a pair that Parker had given him, ones with little golden Snitches on them. Lately they had been reading Harry Potter together at bedtime.

He waited in that position for a few minutes, then abruptly pulled his feet down. Opening a file, he picked up a pen and started chewing on the end. Better let Brennan think he was busy, rather than waiting for her. They were walking a thin line lately, both aware of the other's attraction, but still hesitating. He wasn't sure why Brennan hadn't made a move yet, but he knew why he hadn't. It wasn't so long ago that Epps had escaped, and he had told his partner that their line of work was too dangerous for them to date. Technically, he had been talking about Cam, but she had clearly understood that he was also referring to their relationship progressing beyond that of partners and friends.

And all of that still applied. They had gotten themselves into other dangerous situations since then, and he was still afraid of what some psycho might do to her. But even more, Booth was afraid of what might happen to her if he were injured or killed. It seemed the more likely scenario, that he would be killed somehow, leaving her alone. She had dealt with so much pain and loss already, and he didn't know how she would react if something happened to him.

"You look deep in thought," Brennan said from the doorway, bringing Booth out of his reverie.

His gaze moved slowly up from the file in front of him, traveling up her slender frame, to the files that were still pressed to body. The corners of his mouth turned up into a smirk. He pulled his eyes up to her face and found her staring at him evenly.

"What was that, Bones?" He had heard her, but preferred a moment to gather his thoughts.

One of her eyebrows quirked in an expression Booth was all too familiar with. "I said you looked deep in thought, Booth."

"Yeah, just going over some files," he nodded, indicating the paperwork on his desk.

She came into his office, dropping her files next to his. As she sat down opposite him, she glanced at the papers he had strewn about.

"Isn't that the case we closed last week?" she frowned.

"Uh, yeah." Shit. "I just wanted to look over it, you know, make sure everything was in order."

She nodded slowly, watching him carefully. Then, almost imperceptibly, a shrug of the shoulders.

"When are we leaving?" she asked.

"Whenever you're ready." He indicated the files she had brought along. "Those my IDs?"

"No, they're my IDs, thank you very much."

He rolled his eyes and picked up the one on top, flipping the folder open. He scanned the contents briefly, then picked up the other two and read through them. Two hikers that disappeared in Virginia last year, and another that went missing from Pennsylvania the year before.

"All hikers, huh? Good job, Bones."

The barest hint of a smile played across her lips as she nodded, then looked away, towards his window. Her hands were in her lap and she fidgeted with the bangles on her wrist. She looked nervous. Why would she be nervous? As he watched her, she glanced back at him. Her gaze remained on him, turning defiant. Yes, she was definitely acting strangely. He didn't think he should mention it.

Clearing his throat, he rose from his chair. He grabbed his suit jacket, and while he slipped it on, asked, "You ready to go?"

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Brennan had been somewhat quieter than normal on the half hour drive to Falls Church, where the most recent victim had resided. After turning off the highway, they drove down shaded streets, streets that stretched distantly because of their stilted conversation. Booth had made the mistake of asking if she'd heard from Sully, and since then, he hadn't been able to break out of the awkwardness. After meeting with Gordon Gordon, they had enjoyed barely two weeks of blissful agreement with his therapist's assessment of why Brennan hadn't left with Sully, but as time had passed it became increasingly apparent that the Brit had been wrong. Booth had come to realize that she had feelings for him, just as he had for her. Of course, he didn't mention this epiphany to Dr. Wyatt.

Booth finally turned the SUV into the driveway of the victim's house and he exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. He turned in his seat to face Brennan.

"Now, they've already been told about their son. I didn't want them to have to wait until we were able to get out here," he explained.

"Good," she said. "That part is always the worst. We're just here to ask some questions?"

Nodding, he reminded her, "And please, Bones, don't go into too much detail."

"Booth, there's no need to be condescending," she glared at him. "And besides, I still don't have the remains yet, so I only have what little information the medical examiner sent me." She crossed her arms across her breasts in a huff.

"Okay, okay, don't get all pouty at me," he muttered.

Brennan opened her mouth to protest, but stopped when he pointed at her, wagging his finger from side to side. Much as he liked arguing with her, this wasn't the time.

Mrs. Lessard greeted them at the door. Dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt, she motioned them to come inside. The only color in her face was the red around her eyes. Her husband was already seated on the couch, barely looking more composed than his wife. Booth felt a small sense of relief at seeing the parents this way: while he knew that everyone mourned differently, parents who seemed untouched by grief made him uneasy. As difficult as it was to bear witness to such pain, he much preferred working with people who at least seemed to care that their son or daughter was dead.

Brennan, on the other hand, looked even more uncomfortable than she had earlier. Dealing with bereaved parents was harder on her than it was on him. They took their seats in chairs opposite the Lessards.

"Thank you for seeing us, Mr. and Mrs. Lessard. I'm sure this is the last thing you want to have to deal with right now," Booth began.

The couple nodded mutely in response.

"I'd just like to clarify your son's itinerary while he was camping, if that's okay with you. Now, the information I have says that he left here Friday, April 20th, in the morning. Is that correct?"

"Yes. He drove over to Harper's Ferry, he wanted to get on the Appalachian Trail there," Mr. Lessard responded, his voice dull.

"And he was just planning on going for the weekend, right?"

Mr. Lessard nodded. "Yes. He was going to spend some time on South Mountain. See Crampton Gap, Fox Gap, and Turner Gap. He was a Civil War buff, always loved going to historical sites, you know?"

"Was he hiking alone?"

"I shouldn't have let him, I know," mumbled Mrs. Lessard. "It was my job to keep him safe."

Mr. Lessard put his arm around his wife, pulling her close. She leaned into him, her eyes closed to hold back the tears.

"It's been tough, you know? He's 24, not a kid anymore, but we still feel responsible," he explained.

Booth nodded sympathetically. "Of course."

From next to him, Brennan spoke up. "Mr. Lessard, was Bryan an experienced hiker?"

The man nodded in response. "Oh, yes. I started taking him backpacking with me when he was little. He loved it. Last summer he hiked the entire Virginia portion of the AT in a month."

"Did your son ever mention anyone showing an unusual interest in him? Or had he felt like he was being watched or followed before he left?" Booth questioned.

Both parents shook their heads. Mrs. Lessard said, "No, nothing like that. He was such a good kid, I don't know why anyone would have wanted to hurt him." She buried her face in her husband's shoulder and he cradled her gently. Mr. Lessard glanced up at Booth.

"I'm so sorry to have had to ask these questions, Mr. and Mrs. Lessard. We'll go. If you think of anything else, please let us know." Booth placed his card on the coffee table as he and Brennan rose.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Brennan said quietly.

---------------

Back in the car, Brennan seemed thoughtful as he drove them back to the city. She stared out the window, and Booth knew better than to interrupt her thoughts. With the mood she was in, he doubted they'd get to talk at all before he dropped her off at the lab. After a few minutes, she surprised him by speaking.

"The Lessards seem to—" she hesitated. "It's nice that they have each other."

He glanced at her and wondered how best to reply to that. It seemed a strange thing for her to comment on. He decided noncommittal was best, and only hummed in response.

Another minute passed before she spoke again. "I wish more people had that," she mumbled.

What was that supposed to mean? Since when did she want people to pair up and get married? That seemed so unlike her. He pondered, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. Unless she wasn't talking about people in general, but someone specific.

"Bones, what are we—" Damn, no, not like that. "What's going on?"

She kept her face turned to the window. "What do you mean?"

"What do I mean? I mean, what's going on with you today? You're acting all nervous and shy, and I, we—" he clenched his jaw, trying to figure out how best not to get himself in too deep. "What's going on?"

She didn't respond, only stared out the window. After a while, Booth decided she was probably ignoring him. He felt the first twinges of a headache and tried to force the muscles in his shoulders to relax.

"Don't you ever wish that things were easier?" Her voice was quiet, but the impact of her meaning hit him fully, and suddenly he felt very tired.

"Yes, Temperance. I do."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I work and work and work, and I still don't have enough money to buy Bones.

Thanks again to FauxMaven being an awesome beta.

Hopefully this will satisfy you fans-o-fluff out there. More fluffiness to come, including a guest appearance by Gordon Gordon, if only you'd review.

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The Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal lab was awash with activity when Brennan came through the doors. She moved quickly through the bustle, eyes straight ahead, hoping nobody would spot her. Her face remained impassive, although those that knew her best would have been able to tell that she was troubled. She strode past Hodgins' workstation, past Cam's office, past Angela's. Out of the corner of her eye, Brennan saw her best friend look her way, but she lengthened her stride to reach her office more quickly. Once inside with the door closed behind her, Brennan slumped into her chair. She went through the motions of opening her email but her mind was elsewhere.

She was expecting the knock on her door, but was nonetheless disappointed to hear it

"Come in, Angela," she called out.

"Hey, Bren," Angela said as she entered the office. She moved around to Brennan's side of the desk and tilted the stack of papers in her hand. The piece of paper on top bore the face of a young girl with plain features. Brennan looked up at Angela with an eyebrow raised.

"This is the fifth victim, the only one we haven't been able to identify yet," she explained.

Angela shuffled the papers and produced another paper, this one a computer printout. She only briefly glanced at the photo of the middle-aged man, instead reading the information to the side. Patrick Miraglia, 38, resident of Grand Rapids, Michigan. Disappeared in May of 2006. Last seen hiking the Appalachian Trail outside of Centralia, Pennsylvania. The fourth victim.

"Thanks, Ange. I'll give this to Booth when I see him."

"Sure," Angela responded and crossed to the front of the desk, dropping into one of the chairs. "So what's going on with you?"

Brennan looked up sharply at her friend. "Why is everyone asking me that today?"

"I'm asking you because you came flying down the hallway and nearly slammed the door to your office. Who else asked you that?"

"Booth," muttered Brennan.

Angela nodded once as if that explained everything. She gazed levelly at Brennan.

"What?" Brennan shifted uncomfortably.

"You haven't told me what's going on, Bren."

"That's because I don't know what's going on."

Angela raised her eyebrows. "Do you really have to be so cryptic?"

"I'm sorry, I just really don't know what's wrong with me lately." Brennan sat forward, resting her elbows on her desk, letting her fingertips massage her temples. "Why does everything feel so strange around Booth?"

"This has to do with Booth?"

She glanced up at her friend, debating how much she should confide. Working things out with Angela had been useful in the past, she might as well give it a shot.

Brennan cringed slightly. "I've been attracted to him for a while now."

"So what's the problem?" Angela smirked.

"I told you already, I don't know. I've never hesitated so much in initiating a relationship with a man before. Why can't I do that with Booth?"

"No offense, Bren, but none of your relationships have been really serious. You have fun with men, but that's about it. Do you think maybe this thing with Booth could be more than a fling?"

Brennan sighed and allowed herself a minute to consider. She had never been intimate with someone she'd known well beforehand. Maybe that was the problem. Booth was her best friend next to Angela. How could she just get what she needed from Booth without compromising their friendship? It was almost as if they had already been dating longterm, with sex being the only thing missing. To take that step with him would be like leaping into a full-blown committed relationship. Something she was completely unprepared for. Brennan glanced up at her friend.

"How do you do that?" she asked.

Angela chuckled. "So you're afraid of having a real, grown-up relationship with him."

"Yes. It could fail in so many ways, Ange. Where would that leave us?"

"You know, Hodgins once asked me, 'What if it doesn't end that way?' I think that's something you need to consider. You could have a such a great thing with him, sweetie. Do you really want to mess it up before it even starts?"

Brennan stared off into space for a moment before shaking her head slowly.

With a nod and a smile, Angela rose from the chair. "Good. So you'll talk to him about it?"

"I'll talk to him about it? What?" Brennan questioned, as a feeling quite similar to seasickness filled her stomach.

Angela rolled her eyes. "He's not a mind reader, Bren. Come on, let's go see what the boys are up to."

-------------

It was near evening when Brennan saw Booth walk into the lab. Her team had made a lot of progress, especially since they had gotten the two bodies from the medical examiner's office. Booth called the ME while they were in the car earlier and was quite vehement in demanding that they send the remains over. It was nice to have someone stick up for her team, and the fact that it was a well-muscled, handsome FBI agent was even better. As the afternoon drew to a closeBrennan called Booth to tell him to swing by so that they could go over their findings.

He walked with a slight swagger, his suit jacket open and the topmost buttons of his shirt undone. Brennan let herself watch him for a minute before judging that any longer would arouse suspicion.

"Alright, guys, what have ya got for me?" asked Booth as way of a greeting, swiping his card to gain access to the platform.

The team was gathered around the most recent victim. Booth wrinkled his nose as he approached.

"These are the remains of Bryan Lessard," Brennan started. "There is a Colles' fracture of the right distal radius. Two of the other victims show similar breaks."

"A Colles' fracture indicates that the victim's arms were outstretched to break a fall," Zack chimed in, apparently for Booth's benefit.

"I know that," Booth glared. "What was the cause of death?"

Cam spoke up. "Exsanguination. The victim's throat was punctured."

"By what?"

"We're not sure yet. The remaining flesh on the two most recent victims have evidence of a puncture wound to the neck. All seven victims have similar markings on C4. Zack will work on matching the markings to a weapon," Brennan explained.

"They were all hikers. Maybe check camping gear," Booth suggested. To Brennan, he asked, "Were there any signs of a struggle?"

"No. Four of the victims show absolutely no damage to the bones other than the markings on C4. Also, this victim shows signs of being dragged."

"Well, we already knew the body was moved."

"Yeah," Hodgins said. "But the guy was dragged through the woods."

Booth raised his eyebrows at the entomologist.

"I found traces of _Trillium cernuum_ embedded in the flesh, as well as various other indigenous plant matter. I also found resistant quartzite." Hodgins beamed proudly and received nods of appreciation from all of his fellow team members. Booth, however, just stared at him.

"What's that supposed to mean? In English?"

Hodgins sighed dejectedly. "_Trillium cernuum_, or nodding trillium, is a rare plant in Maryland. It can be found in some spots along the Appalachian trail, which our victim was hiking. South Mountain is composed of mainly resistant quartzite. All of which means he was probably attacked on the Trail."

"Any chance of this happening just from a fall?" Booth queried.

"It's not likely. If a hiker fell and got plant matter and rocks embedded in his wounds, he'd clean himself up. There's no sign of that here," answered Hodgins.

"Statistically speaking, three out of seven hikers falling hard enough to cause these breaks is very unlikely," Zack added.

"Yeah, I have more," grinned Hodgins. "I called the Potomac Trail Club, which is in charge of maintaining the trail in Maryland. There are only four known places along the trail where nodding trillium grows. Two are nowhere near where Lessard was supposed to be when he went missing. The other two are actually fairly close together."

"So we might have our crime scene?"

Hodgins nodded in response.

"Okay, great. So our victim is hiking along the trail and meets up with the killer. He falls, and the killer stabs him in the neck, then drags him off the trail out of the view of anyone else that might come by," Booth theorized.

"We think that the victim may have been killed after being dragged off the trail," Cam said. "The neck wounds don't have the same plant matter embedded in them as the other wounds do. If he had a gaping wound to his neck, it would have collected some debris as he was dragged."

Booth sighed and passed a hand over his face. "So the victim falls, the killer drags him off the trail, and then cuts his throat. How does he get them off the trail without a struggle?"

"It was more of a puncture, Agent Booth," Zack piped up.

Shooting a glance at the younger forensic anthropologist, Booth groaned.

"Alright. What about the other victims?"

Angela led the group down the row of exam tables, indicating the monitors at the head of each, five of which bore full color pictures of the victims. The last victim still had not been identified; the monitor behind that table displayed Angela's sketch.

"Meet Amy Chouinard, 32, of Massachusetts. Sarah DaSilva, 34, of Virginia. Patrick Miraglia, 38, of Michigan. Raymond Burke, 29, of New York. And Mark Favalora, 23, of Florida." Angela took a deep breath before continuing.

"Amy disappeared two months ago, near Mount Greylock in Massachusetts. Sarah and Raymond disappeared in April and June of 2006, respectively. Both were last known to be hiking on the Appalachian Trail near Damascus, Virginia. Patrick and Mark disappeared in May and August of 2006, both on the AT near Centralia, Pennsylvania."

"Thanks, Ange," Brennan smiled. "The last victim is still unidentified, but it's a female, in her early twenties. Hodgins has placed her time of death at summer of 2005."

Booth nodded to her. "So were the others definitely attacked on the trail like Bryan Lessard?"

Hodgins spoke up. "Amy Chouinard definitely was. Like the other victim, there were traces of plant matter embedded in her wounds that indicate she was attacked on the trail. In this case, _Blephilia hirsuta_, or the awesomely named Hairy Wood-Mint. It's endangered in Massachusetts but is known to grow around the base of Greylock."

Pursing his lips, Booth nodded slowly at Hodgins. "Great. Okay, so we're looking at a guy who takes hikers off the Trail, and apparently he likes to use the same spots more than once. I need to put out an alert cautioning hikers in Maryland and Massachusetts then."

-------------

Only one lamp was on in Brennan's apartment, enough to cast a circle of light where she was reclining on the couch, but leaving the rest of the space in near darkness. She had tuned the radio to NPR but left the volume low—she only wanted background noise, something to fill the emptiness of her apartment. The book she had been reading was open but on the coffee table. She just couldn't get into it. Her mind was occupied with other things, and at that moment, she was just allowing herself to be still, something she rarely did.

A knock on the front door interrupted her thoughts.

She hastily turned off the radio and flicked on a few more lights before heading to the door. Smoothing out her clothes, she checked the peephole. Booth. She'd had a feeling he might stop by, which was why she was still dressed presentably, rather than in her pajamas as usual. She had actually considered dressing in one of her skimpier tank top and short sets, but in the end her rational, reserved side had won out. The now familiar yet still irritating sensation of butterflies arose in her stomach.

When she opened the door, she found Booth holding a brown paper bag from a nearby grocery store rather than the usual tray of take-out. He was dressed in his customary dark jeans and faded t-shirt. A hopeful smile graced his lips.

"Hey, Bones, I brought you a treat," he said, jostling the bag he held in front of him.

"A treat?" she inquired as she stepped aside to let him through.

Following him into the kitchen, she couldn't help appreciating her view of him. Through the thin material of his t-shirt, she could see the strong lines of his shoulder blades, and his jeans—oh, how she loved the way they looked on him. During the long hours of night, when she had trouble falling asleep, this was one of the many images that kept her company. The basic yet overwhelming masculinity of him and the easiness of spending time with him.

He was speaking, but she had missed half of what he had said.

"—like ice cream after a stressful day, right?" Booth placed several pints of ice cream on the counter, and with the familiarity of someone who spent a lot of time here, he opened a drawer and pulled out two spoons.

"Take your pick."

She surveyed the offerings briefly before choosing. "I'll have the chocolate raspberry swirl." Picking up the container and the spoon Booth held out for her, she looked thoughtfully at him for a moment. "Thanks, Booth."

He gave her a nod and a grin in return, and they both settled on Brennan's couch. Her ice cream was delicious and she was pleased that Booth had made an effort to connect with her. She knew she had been acting strangely around him earlier, and he must have been confused. Having talked with Angela and worked a few things out, she hoped that the awkwardness would ease up. Maybe if they had something to do rather than just sit here in silence, listening to the other eat.

"Do you want to play a game?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, and then the corners of his mouth turned up into a grin. "Scrabble?"

"Okay, but I'm not going to let you win this time," she warned.

Booth snorted in response. "I'll get it," he grumbled.

After he retrieved the game from the bookshelf in her office, they set it up quickly and began playing. Brennan took the lead right from the start, though after twenty minutes, Booth was catching up. She was a little surprised at the frequency with which vaguely sexual words had appeared in the mix of tiles before her. She had already used words like 'touch,' 'gentle,' 'grip,' 'muscle,' and 'harder,' though the last had been Booth's, she had only added the 'er' to the end. She considered the tiles now in front of her, dismayed with the coincidence. She couldn't use this word. Was this totally random, or was some subconscious impulse at work? She finally realized another option, and moved the tiles around. Perfect.

"Spine," she announced, putting her tiles in place on the board.

Booth glanced at the board, then up at her. "Spine?" he asked.

"Yes. Spine. You know, the backbone."

"The backbone, huh?" he grinned, only barely suppressing a chuckle.

She felt a flush creep up her neck and cheeks. Damn. Did he think she was doing it on purpose? She definitely wasn't. If she believed in psychology, she might agree that it was her subconscious coming up with these words. But she didn't. Really.

"It's your move, you know."

"Alright, alright." Booth bent his head, concentrating on his rack of letters.

Their ice cream sat abandoned on the coffee table. Condensation was pooling on the coasters, threatening to spill over onto the table. While waiting for Booth's move, Brennan absently stared at the water beaded on the cardboard containers. She rose abruptly and gathered the melting ice cream and their glasses of water.

"I'll be right back," she said and went into the kitchen. If Booth responded to her, she didn't hear him.

She placed the ice cream in the sink and filled the glasses with more water, but instead of returning to the living room, she stood in place, thinking. What was this game she was playing? She wanted Booth, and she knew that he wanted her. The nervousness she felt was obvious, but she was an adult. She and Booth had their ups and downs, almost like married couples do. And yet they had stuck together, realizing that their partnership was worth the effort to put things right when everything went to hell. Who was to say that they couldn't do the same in a romantic relationship? She still wasn't sure why Booth hadn't come clean about his feelings for her, but maybe he was trying to take it glacially slow for her benefit. Maybe she should make the first move.

The counter was cool under her palms. Her fingers curved down into the bowl of the sink, her skin still moist from the running water. She heard Booth stand up, his footsteps across her floor. She heard him pause at the entrance to her kitchen, then move closer to her. Her breath caught when he spoke her name.

"Temperance."

She turned slowly and was only mildly surprised to see him so close. Barely a foot separated them. Her gaze rested somewhere in the vicinity of his abdomen and she forced her eyes up his body, over the hint of taut muscles hidden under cotton, along the sinews of his neck, until she finally looked him in the eye. He was watching her, his focus intense. She smiled uneasily at him.

"I know," he said, tilting his head towards her, "what you were doing out there."

"I don't know what you mean," she whispered.

Booth stepped closer to her, scant inches from her now. She could feel his breath across her face, smell his clean scent. He leaned in toward her, his forehead almost touching hers. He was so damn close.

"Oh, I think you do," he murmured.

Temperance shifted her stance and searched his eyes briefly to be sure. Then she turned her head and rested her cheek on his shoulder. His hand came up to rest on her back, his fingers splayed downwards across the top of her ass, and he pulled her close. They were still for a moment, but then his hand slipped off her back and he intertwined his fingers with hers. She lifted her head as he stepped back, taking his smile as reassurance.

Seeley led her out to the living room, stopping in front of the couch. He turned to her and placed his firm hands on her upper arms. She knew what was about to happen and she was not surprised. What was unexpected, however, was the range of her emotions. How was it possible to feel such relief, anticipation, fear, excitement, and nausea, all at once? There was no point in fighting any longer, though, this she knew. Here on the brink, even if nothing actually happened, everything would be different.

Her fingers found their way to his face of their own volition. She let her fingertips wander along his jaw, brush his cheek, slide through his hair to the back of his head. Leaning into him, she had a moment of panic when she thought he wouldn't want this, but he met her halfway. His lips were soft yet firm, gentle yet insistent, and he tasted of mint and cream and chocolate. She opened her mouth for him and his tongue darting across hers ignited a fire in her belly. Their kiss grew ever more urgent as he pulled her roughly against him. The firmness of his arousal pressed into her belly, a teasing hint of pleasures to come.

Temperance let her hands roam over his back and down his arms as she gently eased them both onto the couch. Seeley's hand on her waist inched higher until his thumbs brushed the side of her breast and she hummed quietly in encouragement.

He broke the kiss abruptly, leaving her feeling as though she were desperately trying to catch up. She shook her head slightly at him.

"What--?"

"Temperance, I, uh," he winced. "We really shouldn't..."

She stood and stepped away from him, her cheeks burning. This was not how it was supposed to happen. She couldn't believe she had misread him so badly. Adrenaline rushed through her, and her body leaped into flight. She glanced towards the door and almost headed for it before remembering she was already home. Damn.

Brennan cleared her throat. "I need to go, you know, to sleep. You can let yourself out." And she turned and fled to the solitude of her bedroom.

She stood with her back to the door, her hand still on the doorknob. Fighting back tears, she took deep gulping breaths. She was such an idiot. Everyone had been right about her all along, she was so inept socially and here was just another example in a long line of embarrassing moments. Through the door Brennan could hear Booth moving around, and she found herself desperately wishing he would come and knock on her door, tell her it was all a mistake. She hated that feeling, that pathetic dependence. Even worse was the disappointment when she heard the door to her apartment close.

Finally she managed to calm herself slightly and began preparing for bed. Ten minutes later, as she slid between the cool sheets, her only thoughts were of how long she could possibly avoid Booth, when they had seven murders to solve.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I'm so tired. It's late. Do I really need to spell it out?

Here's the next chapter. It's quite a bit longer than the others, I think. You all better review, I'm getting discouraged with the odd disparity between the number of reviews and the people I know are reading it. I may have to wrap this up soon if you guys aren't that interested. It's a shame, too, 'cause I have some great stuff up my sleeve. And yes, this is as close as I'll get to begging.

As always, thanks to my wonderful beta, FauxMaven.

-------------

When Booth woke up, it was to a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was screwed. There was no other way to put it, no sugar coating, no bright side. He had messed up and he knew it. Lying on his back in bed, he crossed his arms and stared at the ceiling. It still confused him, and he had spent half the night trying to sort things out. Bones had flirted with him all evening, and when he finally went to her, it felt good. Amazingly good. There was the relief of finally having done something about his attraction to her, but then a new hunger had risen within him. He'd had a taste and wanted more.

He rolled over onto his side, stuffing his hands under his pillow. But then he had panicked. Thoughts of the dangers of their jobs and of ruining their partnership invaded his head. In hindsight, he knew he shouldn't have acted so rashly. Temperance had taken it as an insult, and he hadn't had time to explain himself. If they weren't in the middle of the case, he could have given her a few days to cool off, but that wasn't an option. Damn.

Sitting up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, placing his bare feet on the cool hardwood floor. He rubbed his stubbled face, trying to wake himself up properly. He'd have to give her a call. Booth knew that if he tried to talk to her in person, she'd refuse to listen to him. Better to call and leave a message, then give her some time to process what he said. He also needed to let her know what the plan was for today, as he hadn't been able to the night before.

He picked up his cell phone, his index finger hovering over the memory key. Maybe he should call her office, where she was less likely to pick up. He promised himself he wasn't being a coward and dialed the number. Voicemail picked up after a few rings and he took a deep breath.

"Hey, Bones, uh, Temperance, it's me. Listen, about last night, I really want to apologize. I don't think, uh, I didn't mean that the way, you know, it sounded. It's not that I don't, well, I mean, I want—" he sighed. This was not going the right way. He should have written something down beforehand.

"Okay, well, maybe we can talk about it later? Anyway, I didn't get a chance to tell you last night, but we need to go onto the AT. I've talked to Cullen and Cam about it."

He knew it was stupid, but he cringed at having to mention Cam. He wasn't sure how she really felt about his history with Cam and he preferred to err on the side of caution.

"If we leave here before lunch, we can make it onto the Trail and to a shelter by nightfall, then in the morning we can continue on to where Hodgins says Lessard might have been attacked. So, if you have hiking gear, I can pick you up at your place around noon. If not, call and let me know, we can go buy what you need. So, this is pretty much the longest message ever. Um, yeah. So, call me if that isn't okay, otherwise I'll see you at noon."

He disconnected the call and groaned. What an idiot.

His shower was quick and perfunctory, as he had showered before going to Brennan's. After he dried off, he pulled on a pair of sweat pants and set about finishing up the rest of his packing. He had gotten most of it done during his bout of insomnia the night before, but still had a few odds and ends to cram inside the backpack. He was still debating whether he really needed to bring a tent—it would mean a trip to the sporting goods store, as his old one had been damaged, and they were planning on staying in shelters the two nights that they would be on the trail. Well, he could decide later.

He ate his breakfast at the breakfast counter in his kitchen. As he spooned cereal into his mouth, he went through his plans for the day. He could swing by the office for an hour or two to check on a few things, but then he was scheduled to meet with Gordon Gordon at ten o'clock. He should be out of there in an hour, which would give him time to stop by the store to pick up some groceries before heading to Brennan's apartment. He was dreading both his appointment with his psychiatrist and meeting up with Brennan later. He had a feeling that neither would go well.

------------

Ten o'clock found Booth knocking on the door of Dr. Gordon Wyatt's home. The flowers surrounding his patio were abundant with blooms, and their heady scents laced the air. It was warm outside and he hoped that Dr. Wyatt would conduct their session outdoors. He shifted his weight, fidgeting in impatience for the doctor to answer the door. Finally, through the glass, Booth spotted him approaching, carrying a tray of coffee and muffins. Booth tried the doorknob and found it unlocked; he pushed the door open and stepped aside to let the older man through.

"Thank you, Agent Booth. Most kind of you."

"Sure, doc."

They settled themselves at the patio table and Booth helped himself to a cup of weak coffee and a buttery cranberry muffin. Dr. Wyatt still hadn't gotten the hang of preparing coffee, but he frequented one of the best bakeries in town. It made for a balance that Booth was willing to live with. They chatted amiably for a few moments before getting down to business.

Dr. Wyatt asked how work was going and if they had made any progress on the case. Booth filled him in on a few of the details, pleased to have a safe topic to discuss. But then Dr. Wyatt asked about Brennan, and before he even had a chance to answer, the doctor raised his eyebrows and leaned forward in a movement that Booth had grown to recognize as trouble.

"Listen, everything's fine with Bones. We don't need to talk about that, everything will work itself out."

"Everything will work itself out? What, exactly, needs to be worked out?"

"What? No, nothing needs to be worked out. I just said everything's fine," Booth protested.

"I beg to differ, Agent Booth. You just told me that everything will work itself out. That indicates that something is amiss between you and your partner."

Booth shook his head. There were some things he preferred not to talk about—he was never one to kiss and tell. "We really don't need to discuss my personal life. You're here to help me, you know, not shoot at trucks."

"Your personal life? I daresay that greatly affects your work life. So, you and Dr. Brennan have, ah...?" he quirked his eyebrows.

"No, we haven't. Definitely not."

Dr. Wyatt leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands in front of him. "You say that as if it were an impossibility."

"Well, yeah, you know, there are some people you can't just sleep with. And, uh, she's probably furious at me, so I'm the last guy she wants to see," Booth mumbled.

"So you were thinking of just sleeping with her, then? I was under the impression she meant rather more to you than that."

"No, no, I didn't think it'd be just sex. Bones, you know, she's not someone I would have just had a fling with."

Dr. Wyatt nodded and gazed absently at his cup of coffee. He crossed one leg over the other, then took a sip of his drink. Booth couldn't read his facial expression, which drove him just a little crazy.

"Okay, so, I kissed her. We didn't sleep together, and won't," he confessed.

"Why not?" asked Dr. Wyatt, looking up from his cup.

"Because she's mad at me. I mean, she has every right to be, you know. I panicked."

The psychiatrist only quirked an eyebrow in response and Booth sighed, slumping his shoulders.

"While we were, you know, kissing, I started worrying about everything that could go wrong, and then I told her we needed to stop. She flipped out and took off before I could explain."

"Hardly surprising, don't you think?"

He nodded. "I guess."

Ringing from Booth's cell phone interrupted the silence that had fallen and he checked the caller ID. It was Angela, only marginally better than if Brennan had called herself. He knew that the women shared pretty much everything and sincerely hoped he wasn't about to get yelled at. But then again, it could be about the case, or maybe something was wrong with Brennan.

"I'm sorry, I have to get this," he told Dr. Wyatt. The older man rose and headed towards his house, causing Booth to roll his eyes. He pushed the little green button on his phone.

"Booth."

Angela's voice, coming through the phone, was louder than necessary and clearly pissed.

"What did you do, Booth?" she demanded.

"Angela? I don't know what you're talking about." He didn't think it would work, but it was worth a shot.

"Don't give me that crap. She's completely humiliated, though she won't tell me that. To me, she's just pretending that she's beyond angry. I promised her I wouldn't call you. But Booth, seriously, what were you thinking?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was really not in the mood for this. "Angela, listen, I left her a voicemail explaining everything. Did she get it?"

"A voicemail? Real smooth of you," she commented, her voice heavy with sarcasm. "Yeah, I heard it, and that hardly counts as an explanation. You didn't actually _say_ anything."

That's right. How could he have forgot his moronic babbling earlier? Well, it should have meant something to her. At least clued her in to the fact that he was maybe just confused.

"I'm in the middle of an appointment with my psychiatrist. Do you think maybe we can do this later?" he groused.

"Fine, fine. Tell him to knock some sense into you," she muttered. "And to think that I had just convinced her to stop worrying so much and take a chance on you. Now she'll never listen to my advice." A click signaled that Angela had ended the call.

Booth stared at his phone in disbelief. What was that supposed to mean? Brennan had been worrying about their relationship? And she had decided to make the first move? The dull ache in his head that had persisted all morning grew quite suddenly into a full blown choke-hold on his brain.

The door to the house opened and out stepped Dr. Wyatt. It was uncanny how he did that, always coming back the moment he was off the phone. The doctor chuckled when he saw Booth and resumed his seat.

"Not good news, I take it," he commented.

Booth rolled his eyes and grumbled. "No. That was Bones' best friend chewing me out."

"Ah, yes, Angela. Lovely woman," Dr. Wyatt smiled.

He snorted. "Yeah, so long as you don't get on her bad side."

Dr. Wyatt rubbed his hands together. "Well, let's get on with it, shall we? Why don't you tell me what you're so worried about with Dr. Brennan?"

"It's a lot of things, I guess. Our jobs aren't exactly low risk, you know. And being in a relationship, those sorts of feelings can cloud your judgement. Then before you know it, you're taking risks you shouldn't be," Booth shrugged.

"So you're worried about poor judgement and risk-taking, then?" Dr. Wyatt questioned. At Booth's nod, he continued, "Then you've never done something rash, something risky, for Dr. Brennan?"

New Orleans popped into his head, where he removed evidence from the scene of a crime. Poor judgement, maybe. And he left the hospital too soon after getting blown up so he could rescue Brennan, even when there were dozens of other perfectly competent agents able to handle it. Yeah, that counted as risky.

Booth shrugged sheepishly. "No, I guess I have."

"Let me ask you something else then. What if Dr. Brennan were to get hurt or, God forbid, killed while chasing this serial killer of yours?"

The mere thought sent shudders down his spine and a profound sense of despair welled up within him. His chest hurt as he imagined the regret he would feel at never having the chance to tell Brennan how he truly felt. To show her.

"Okay, I get it," he said quietly.

The doctor hummed. "Yes, I thought you would," he smiled.

--------------

The black SUV sat in front of Brennan's apartment with Booth still hiding inside. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, stalling. He still hadn't figured out what he was going to say when he saw her and he had no idea how she was going to act towards him. His full pack was in the backseat, already stuffed with his share of the groceries. Brennan's share sat beside him, neatly organized in a shopping bag. The directions to the point of access for the Trail were tucked above his visor. The gas tank was full and he had already checked in with his office and with Cam. Those phone calls had been more or less unnecessary, but he had been trying to waste time. There was nothing left to do but pick up his partner. He sighed.

Once inside, he hesitated before knocking. The handles of the grocery bag itched in his sweaty palm and he shifted it to the other hand. Well, no sense in delaying any further. He took a deep breath and knocked. As he waited, the thought occurred to him that maybe she wasn't there. Maybe she had decided not to go at all and hadn't wanted to tell him.

But then the door opened.

"I was in the other room, sorry," Brennan said.

She averted her gaze as he stepped through the door. Booth thought he had felt badly about hurting her feelings before, but when they were apart, it had been easier to underestimate the issue. Now, standing before her, he fully realized the impact of his hasty actions the night before. He wanted to say something to her, to apologize, to tell her that he wanted nothing more than to carry her off to her bedroom, forget the case, and spend all afternoon, hell, all of eternity showing her how much he wanted her. His mouth opened and then closed. No words came.

She gave a small sigh and a barely noticeable nod.

"I'll get my things."

He stood around uselessly while she shoved the groceries into her pack, hands in his pockets. They loaded his SUV in near silence, neither saying more than absolutely necessary. Booth felt as though the moment to apologize had passed, that anything he said now would be met with utter disbelief. It felt wrong to leave things this way, but he couldn't figure out a way to start the conversation. He ran through countless openings in his head but all of them sounded too sappy, too arrogant, or just plain forced.

It wasn't until a half hour into their silent drive that he gave up on finding the perfect words.

"Hey, um, Bones?"

Brennan, who was facing the passenger window, hummed.

"I'm an idiot."

Another hum from Brennan, then a pause. "Go on."

Well, at least that was something.

"Haven't you ever just totally panicked? Even when what you were panicking about was, you know, a really good thing?"

"Not really. Panicking isn't very productive. It's a biological response to threatening stimuli, though it almost never actually helps the situation," Brennan shrugged.

"Well, that's helpful information right there, Bones. Thanks."

"You asked me a question. Don't get angry at me for answering it," she retorted.

Booth sighed. He didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. He didn't know why he was snapping at her when he was the one who needed to apologize.

"You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bit your head off. And I'm sorry about last night, too. I know rational people don't panic, but I guess I'm not rational. It didn't have anything to do with you at all," he told her.

"That doesn't make sense. Of course it had to do with me, I was the person you were kissing, remember?"

He felt like hitting something. This woman was so infuriating, so contrary, how could he possibly feel the way he did about her? Why did he have to fall for a difficult, complicated woman? But he had fallen for her; even if he was still conflicted about what to do about that, he needed to set things right.

"Okay, that was a stupid thing for me to say. You're right, of course you were involved. But I don't want you to think that I didn't enjoy, uh, last night. You didn't do anything wrong."

Several minutes passed in silence. He wanted to give her time to think, to absorb what he said. He tried to focus fully on driving, but there was little traffic and he couldn't stop himself from thinking about this crazy situation he had gotten himself into. He wanted her to say something, and finally he couldn't resist any longer.

"What do I need to do so that you're not pissed off at me anymore?" he asked, trying not to sound too whiny.

"I'm not angry with you," she said quietly.

"You're not? Why?"

"Can we stop talking about this? Let's focus on the case and we can figure this out later."

"Alright," Booth grudgingly agreed.

-------------

The trip had been shorter than expected and Booth was immensely grateful to be out of the car. After their conversation, the silence had changed from tense to just slightly awkward, but it still wasn't the best way to spend forty-five minutes. He stretched his arms behind his back, surveying the small parking area where they would leave the SUV while they hiked. When they got off the trail further north, they would have a cab bring them back here. He had already called a local cab company to let them know roughly when they might be needing a ride.

He turned to Brennan and grinned. It felt so much better being out of the city, with fresh air and the clean smell of pine instead of haziness and engine exhaust. She gave him a smile in return and opened the back door where their gear was stowed.

"Want me to help you get your pack on, Bones?" he offered.

"No thanks, I can handle it."

And indeed she could. He was impressed with her familiarity with her pack and all the dangling straps and attachments. Their packs weighed close to forty pounds—they had been able to leave out some camping gear since they wouldn't be out here long, but had filled the leftover space with necessary items from her forensics field kit. She lifted the pack easily, and he couldn't help feeling proud of her.

Once on the Trail, they quickly found their rhythm. Thankfully, they were both in shape and the terrain wasn't that difficult. Before long the awkwardness faded and they were able to joke around almost as usual. He found when they stopped for breaks, though, the conversation lulled and they almost seemed shy around each other. He believed her when she said she wasn't angry—it was just as if they didn't really know how to act around each other when there wasn't anything to distract them.

It was after such a break that Booth found himself searching for a way to get their conversation back on track.

"Hey, my dad told me about this mummy at the Carnegie Museum of Natural History. There's some big deal about giving it a CT scan. He said it was all over the news a week or two ago," he told her.

"I read about it. The mummy dates to the Ptolemaic Dynasty. It was originally thought that the child was about 8 years old at death, but they discovered it was closer to 3 to 5 years old."

"Yeah, that's what he said. He thought it was funny that the CT was done at the Children's Hospital," he grinned.

Brennan smiled at him. "It is an amusing coincidence, but I'm sure that had little to do with why they chose those facilities. Oh, this looks like fun," she grumbled.

They halted in front of an enormous pine that had fallen across the path, its bare branches sticking up at odd angles, looking more than a little intimidating. To the left, the Trail gave way to a steep drop, leaving no room for negotiating around the tree on that side. Unluckily, the other side proved just as unpassable, as Booth painfully found when he tried to push through the brambles lining the path there.

With a grumble, he told Brennan, "I guess we're going over."

She moved to go first, but he held out a hand. "No, let me go first. I'll help you over when I'm across."

"Booth, I'm perfectly capable of climing over a tree."

"Will you just humor me for once?" he sighed exasperatedly.

Booth surveyed the tree, trying to find a route least likely to get him impaled on a spindly branch. He thought of trying to shove his pack ahead of him, but there was expensive equipment in there. This was not going to be easy. He found a good foothold and pushed himself up the side of the trunk. He sidestepped between several branches, barely fitting through some of the spaces. Finally he was able to hop down off the tree, albeit awkwardly. He turned to Brennan.

"Now, I know I made it look like a piece of cake, but it's harder than it looks," he grinned.

She rolled her eyes at him but smiled nonetheless. Using the same foothold Booth had, she easily pulled herself up onto the tree. He scowled at her agility but was able to convince himself it was because she weighed considerably less than he did. She moved between the branches and was nearly ready to hop down when her foot caught and she came down hard on one knee.

"Bones!" Booth exclaimed, reaching out towards her to help her up. His hand found hers and he briefly marveled at its warmth and softness. She protested but still used his hand to pull herself up. Within moments, she was off the tree, looking grateful to be back on solid ground. She dropped her pack and Booth did the same.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Let me see your knee," he insisted.

"No, my knee's fine, probably just a little bruised. I think I got scraped here, though," she muttered. She pulled up the edge of her shirt, peering down at a small gash on her stomach. "My shirt must've gotten yanked up when I fell."

Booth cringed. "Let me get my first aid kit." He knelt in front of his pack and began rummaging through it. He was glad for the distraction from the pale, supple skin of her abdomen. "Does it hurt much?"

"It stings," she shrugged.

When he found the kit, he instructed her to hold up her shirt for him so he could tend to the gash. She surprised him by complying. Crouching before her, he tore open an alcohol wipe packet and swabbed the blood away. When he blew gently across her skin to ease the burning, she visibly stiffened. He looked up at her and smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, habit. I do that for Parker, he says it helps."

She nodded in understanding, then mumbled, "It does."

He bowed his head, ostensibly to resume his work, but also to hide the wide grin that spread across his face. After applying some triple ointment cream and a bandage, he stood and brushed himself off.

"Do you think you can go on, or do I need to carry you back to the car?" he teased.

Brennan gave him a playful shove on the shoulder and moved to pick up her pack. When she lifted it, she winced. Booth was at her side in an instant and took the pack from her, helping ease it onto her shoulders.

"If it hurts too much to carry your pack, let me know. We can ditch some of the stuff and I can carry the rest," he told her.

"I'll be fine, Booth."

----------

They reached shelter well before nightfall. Brennan had brought her tent but they decided that they should both sleep in the shelter, especially since there could very well be a serial killer in the woods with them. Brennan set about arranging their ground covers and sleeping bags while Booth set up the stove. He was pulling out the plastic bags of food when she emerged from the shelter and sat down beside him.

"What's for dinner?" she asked. "I'm starving."

"The trail mix wasn't enough for you, huh?"

"It was good, but I worked up an appetite. Aren't you hungry?"

"Famished," he grinned.

After the pot of water began boiling, Booth poured a bag of sun-dried tomatoes and dried mushrooms into the water. He let that cook for a few minutes, then added noodles and a dribble of olive oil from plastic bottle.

"You brought olive oil?" asked Brennan incredulously.

Booth shrugged. "Might as well do it right. If you put some in a little bottle like this, it's not as bad as carrying around a big glass jar."

"How long until it's ready?"

"Patience, Bones, patience. Maybe ten minutes?" he guessed.

They sat quietly, enjoying the tranquility of the mountains. So far they were the only ones at the shelter, and Booth was selfishly hoping it would stay that way. He didn't relish having to make small talk with strangers when he was trying to fix what had gone wrong between him and his partner. Glancing over at Brennan, he wondered why he was having such a hard time just letting go of his worries. Everything that Gordon Gordon had said earlier was right, but it was one thing to know something in your head and another to fully believe it. He realized that he was being crazy, that to have a woman like Temperance Brennan be interested in him was a stroke of luck, and he should just go for it. God knew he spent enough time dreaming about her.

Booth pulled himself out of his reverie and tested the noodles. Perfect. He drained the liquid into a separate pot to be buried well away from the shelter. He poured some more olive oil into the pot, tossed it, then emptied a little bag of basil, oregano, and parmesan cheese on top of the noodles. He tossed the contents again, then presented it for Brennan's approval.

"Voila, my famous pasta with tomatoes and mushrooms."

"Famous, huh?"

"Well, kind of." He paused. "Okay, not really. Try it, though."

Booth divided the meal onto their plates and he watched as she took a tentative bite. He was pleased to see her face light up.

"This is great, Booth. Thanks for cooking."

He gave her his most charming smile. "I live to serve," he winked.

Halfway through their meal, they heard voices on the Trail and before long another pair of hikers came into view. Booth sighed inwardly. They seemed like a nice enough couple, though, both in their early thirties, Booth guessed, and fit. The woman introduced herself as Danielle and the man, she indicated, was her husband, Rob. They set about preparing their dinner with practiced efficiency and Booth was grateful that they at least knew Trail etiquette.

Brennan watched them openly and though he was probably imagining it, he thought he saw flashes of envy in her eyes as Danielle affectionately teased Rob and as they both used strange pet names for each other. When Rob leaned in to give his wife a quick kiss, Booth stood.

"Let's go filter our water before it gets dark," he suggested.

They gathered their water bottles and filter and headed off towards the water source. As they walked, Booth hesitantly placed his hand at the small of Brennan's back, not sure if she'd allow it. When she didn't protest, he slid his arm up around her shoulder, pulling her close to his side. She glanced up at him and smiled, and he grinned back. Maybe this was worth the risk.

-------------

Later that night, Booth and Brennan lay half-covered in their sleeping bags next to each other. The evening had turned out more pleasantly than he had expected. They had gotten along well with the other couple; conversation had flowed easily and they all shared snacks they had brought along. After cleaning their pots and dishes and suspending their food high in a tree well into the woods, they had all taken turns changing behind the shelter. Booth had discreetly placed the gun from his ankle holster under his sleeping bag—he didn't really think the killer would show up in the middle of the night and attack them, but better safe than sorry.

Now in the darkness, they listened to the sounds of the forest around them, both lost in their thoughts. He knew he would tell Brennan how he felt about her, hopefully soon. Maybe if the opportunity presented itself on the trail tomorrow, if not, maybe he would take her out to dinner when they got back. Either way, he was ready to quit fooling around.

He reached across the space between them and found her hand. Her skin felt chilly in the night air and he covered her hand with his. The squeeze she gave him in return told him that she would wait until he was ready.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I don't own Bones. If I did, there would be new episodes every week and no break over the summer. Boo, summer!

Thanks so much to FauxMaven and to my husand for helping me with this chapter.

-----------

The morning was cool and calm when she awoke. Mixed with the birdsong was the sound of their fellow hikers quietly getting ready to resume their journey. Brennan lay in her sleeping bag, not entirely comfortable, but she could definitely think of worse places to be on an early Thursday morning. She rolled over in her sleeping bag to face Booth. He was sound asleep on his side, one arm under his head, the other stretched out towards her. He was still handsome in his sleep, though the intensity she had first fallen for was gone, replaced by a contentedness that she had only become familiar with in the last few months. She could grow used to waking up like this.

"Stop staring at me, it's creeping me out," Booth murmured, eyes still closed.

Brennan froze. Did he know? "I'm not staring at you."

He cracked open an eye and she hurriedly rolled onto her back. He chuckled, his voice deep and rough with sleep. She lay still for a minute, mildly embarrassed at having been caught ogling him. When she finally sat up, she felt a fresh twinge of pain from her stomach. She lifted her shirt and peeled back the bandage, peering at her wound. Next to her, Booth sat up, looking at her anxiously.

"How is it?" he asked.

"I'll live. I need a fresh bandage, though." She moved to get up but before she could finish unzipping her bag, he was on his feet and heading toward their packs.

"I'll get it, lay back down and let me take care of it."

"Booth—" she began.

"No, you better listen to me or I'll have to tickle you," he grinned. "I know how much you like that. Besides, you can make breakfast."

She laughed and relented. When he knelt beside her, she lifted up her shirt rather higher than necessary and smiled shyly at Booth. She knew she was being coy but couldn't help herself. He was gentle in his ministrations; the alcohol he dabbed on her skin barely stung this time. She was disappointed that he didn't blow across her skin as before—that had been unexpectedly erotic. As he applied the bandage, he let his fingers dance lightly across her side and she squirmed and laughed.

"Hey, I let you do your thing, you weren't supposed to tickle," she complained.

Booth smirked at her. "Oh, you wanted it, admit it."

"I did not. You shouldn't presume to know what I want," she told him as she wriggled out of her sleeping bag.

"Hah. I know exactly what you want."

He stood toe to toe with her, his chest only inches away from hers. Her eyes flicked to his lips, turned up in an easy smile that was belied by the intensity in his eyes. She wanted desperately to feel his lips again, to taste him, to feel his body pressed against hers. She knew he wanted it, too, and if she said the right thing, it would happen.

But instead, she said, "You do not."

A flicker passed through his eyes, and as he took a small step back, he raised a finger to point at her.

"I do too."

The intensity was gone and now his lightheartedness was genuine. She regretted the loss of the moment, but it hadn't seemed the right time and she didn't want to have the memory of another bad kiss. The sound of laughter stopped Brennan from continuing the argument. They turned to find their fellow hikers, Danielle and Rob, watching them, obviously amused.

"You two look like a couple of kids got crushes on each other," Rob commented.

To her husband, Danielle said, "I bet he's gonna pull her hair next."

Booth and Brennan glanced at each other. Normally she would have strenuously denied any romantic connection between them, but she sensed that her words would sound too false just then. Booth saved her from having to come up with a reply by laughing and rolling his eyes at her.

"If I did that, she'd kick my ass," he told Danielle.

While Booth changed into clean clothes, Brennan started breakfast. She put water on to boil and poured packets of cinnamon oatmeal into their plastic bowls. She found a green apple in their food stores, cut half of it into cubes and the rest she sliced. Once the water was boiling, she poured it into their bowls and stirred. She topped the oatmeal with the cubed apple and took a crisp slice to munch on while she waited for Booth. Before long, he appeared striding up the trail that led to the water source. His hair was damp and ruffled, his face freshly scrubbed. He wore the same pair of jeans as yesterday but his t-shirt was new and Brennan admired the way it stretched across his chest.

"Feel better?" she asked.

"I will once I eat." He peered at the bowl of oatmeal she held out for him. "Hey, I thought we were having pancakes and bacon."

"Very funny."

"You know it."

--------------

The Trail stretched ahead, winding its way across ridges and through gaps, affording spectacular views interspersed with the endless green backdrop. Every time Brennan turned a corner she was faced with more woods, a fact that she imagined would get discouraging for a lot of through-hikers. She loved hiking but the monotony would surely get to her if she were at it for more than a week. They plodded on toward the spots on their maps that indicated patches of _Trillium cernuum_. Occasionally she or Booth would get ahead of the other, but they tried their best to stay close.

They reached the first growth of the plant midmorning. Booth spotted it first, pointing out the white flowers hanging from the underside of clusters of vivid green leaves. They both set down their packs and while Booth surveyed the area, Brennan retrieved her forensic light source from her pack. She swept the light over the plants and the ground surrounding the plants extensively but found nothing. Even after widening her search area, she still didn't come up with anything. After checking that Booth had been unsuccessful at finding evidence as well, they moved on. She was mildly discouraged but hoped they'd have better luck at the next site.

It was nearing noon when Brennan decided she needed a break to empty her bladder. Booth was a few steps behind her and when she stopped, he nearly ran into her.

"We just stopped a half hour ago, Bones. Tired already?" he teased.

"I have to pee. Is that okay with you, or should I wait for the next designated break?" she bit back.

"Okay, okay. I could go, too." Booth moved to drop his pack on the ground, but she stopped him.

"Uh-uh, you go on ahead. I'd like some privacy, if you don't mind."

Booth groaned. "Come on, Bones."

She stared at him, waiting for him to give in. With a grumble, Booth resumed walking. She waited until he was out of sight, then unshouldered her pack. It hit the ground with a satisfying thud and she savored the relief of being unburdened. Brennan moved off into the woods, stepping gingerly through the underbrush, watching out for any of the various rash-inducing plants. That was all she needed. She stopped while still in sight of the Trail—she was experienced enough to know the folly of wandering too deep into the forest. It was ridiculously easy to get lost, even though one would think it would be a simple enough task to walk in a straight line, then turn around to head back.

When she stepped back onto the trail, she saw another hiker heading her way. Grateful that he hadn't come by a few minutes earlier, she smiled at him as she picked up her pack. The man paused when he reached her and returned her smile. He adjusted his glasses repeatedly as they exchanged the usual pleasantries, asking about weather forecasts, the difficulty of the Trail ahead, all the topics that lonely hikers usually brought up. When she thought she had been polite enough, she excused herself and headed down the trail towards Booth. She found him sitting next to his pack, waiting for her.

"Everything come out okay, Bones?" he grinned.

Brennan rolled her eyes at him and waited while he shouldered his pack. He groaned at the weight of it and she smirked.

"If that's getting too heavy for you, I can carry it for a while."

"Very funny," he muttered.

They still had about a half hour's walk until they would reach the next growth of _Trillium cernuum_. Brennan let her mind wander as they walked, and as usual, her thoughts turned to Booth. She wasn't sure she was right to forgive Booth for his indecision, fear, or whatever it was. She knew she should ask him why he hesitated, but she was afraid of what he might say. Now that she had decided she wanted to pursue a romantic involvement with Booth, it seemed that it would be her luck for something to go horribly wrong. Of course, she didn't really believe in bad luck—it was irrational, unscientific, and illogical. But the part of her brain that was more at home in the caves at Lascaux than Washington, D.C. argued that luck was a very real force.

Her stomach rumbled. They had eaten energy bars as a snack at their earlier break, but Booth set a fast pace and she was sure she had quickly burned through the calories the bar had given her. Her legs and back ached from the strain of carrying her pack while trying to keep up. If it weren't for the sweat seeping through his shirt, she would hardly know that Booth was working as hard as she was. Booth stopped to reach back to grab one of the water bottles tucked into the side pockets on his pack. He popped open the cap and took several long swallows. For a moment Brennan was entranced with the way the muscles in his arm stood out against the fabric of his shirt and the way his throat moved while he swallowed.

She cleared her throat. "Booth, don't drink your water too fast."

He lowered the bottle from his lips and looked at her. "Why?"

"Because you don't want to run out of water," she sighed, exasperated. "What if there isn't another water source until the shelter?"

"I'm way ahead of ya, Bones," he told her as he pulled a creased map from his pocket. He tapped it with the water bottle. "There's a stream just before we get to the Trillium."

Brennan's brow creased slightly, a little disappointed that she hadn't thought to check for water sources on the map as well. Booth chuckled and winked at her.

"Hey, thanks for worrying about me, though. Didn't know you cared so much, I'm touched." He grinned as he took another sip before replacing the bottle back in his pack. Unfortunately, he missed the glare she threw at him.

-----------

Shortly after replenishing their water at what barely counted as a water source, Booth and Brennan arrived at the coordinates for the next patch of _Trillium cernuum_. It was a nondescript section of trail, the same trees and bushes as anywhere else. They dropped their packs and looked around, trying to spot the plant they needed, but there was nothing. Brennan glanced at Booth, a slightly worried look on her face.

"It's probably farther into the woods," he told her. "Don't worry, we'll find it."

They took opposite sides of the path and began making wide sweeps of the land, searching carefully for even a hint of _Trillium cernuum. _Brennan kept her eyes on the ground as she moved. They needed to find this plant—they had too few clues on this case as it was, even with seven bodies to examine. Before they had left the day before, Cam had taken her aside and stressed the fact that they needed to solve this case quickly. It had apparently attracted more than normal media attention and the Jeffersonian wanted to look good.

She nearly passed by the crumpled-looking plant barely holding itself off the ground, but she happened to notice a hint of white peeking out from under one of the crushed leaves. She crouched down, pulled on a pair of gloves, and gently lifted up the plant. There was the white flower and the leaves were abruptly pointed, just like those of _Trillium cernuum_. She had found it.

"Booth!" she called. "Over here! Grab my light source; it's in my pack."

While she waited for him, she examined the surrounding area. She was well removed from the trail—about as far away as she'd go if she needed to relieve herself, she noted. A cluster of immature Trillium stood nearby, but she couldn't see anything that might pass as evidence other than the plants themselves. After a few minutes she realized Booth was still rummaging through the pack, making rather more noise than seemed necessary and muttering curses. She headed back towards the trail and when she got close enough to see him properly, she stopped, baffled.

The contents of his pack were spread across the ground. Food lay discarded, the first aid kit had been dumped out, and it looked like Booth had tossed his spare clothes over his shoulder and onto a bush behind him. He glanced up at her, then resumed digging through the pack.

"I can't find your damn thing!" he complained.

"Booth," she started, unsure of what was going on. "My light source is in my pack."

"I know. Christ, Bones, do you think I'm stupid?"

"That's your pack, Booth, not mine."

Booth paused, then looked up at her. He was still crouched in front of his pack. "What are you talking about?"

Brennan moved closer to him, concerned. "That's not mine," she said slowly.

"It's not?" he said, blinking deliberately. He gazed down at the pack in front of him, then collapsed backwards into a sitting position. He looked puzzled. She approached him cautiously, not so much out of fear, but because she didn't want to alarm him. Kneeling in front of him, she took a quick appraisal of his condition. She noted that his pupils were dilated and that he looked a little pale. He had no obvious injuries, but he was confused and maybe a little off balance. What happened in the few minutes that had passed while they were looking for the Trillium?

"Bones, I don't..." he trailed off. After a moment, he looked up at her and his eyes seemed slightly out of focus. "I can't, you know, think. Something's wrong."

"That's obvious. How do you feel? Did you eat something?"

Booth stared at his knees and she started to think that he wasn't going to answer. Then he wrapped his arms around his stomach and groaned. "I think I'm going to be sick," he mumbled.

"You need to tell me if you ate something," she urged him as she moved away from where she thought he might turn if he vomited. She was starting to feel more than just worried. It seemed unlikely that Booth would have eaten some poisonous berries but his symptoms indicated something of the sort.

"Eat? No, I didn't eat anything," he snorted derisively. His expression changed quickly from irritation to concern. "I don't, uh, know what happened," he paused for a few moments. "I think I've been drugged." He sounded like he almost didn't believe it himself.

"Drugged?" She was unable to keep the incredulity out of her voice.

"Yeah, I do know what that feels like," he mumbled.

"How did you get drugged?" she asked, confused. She didn't recall anyone having the opportunity to drug him.

"Remember those fractures in my feet? They drugged me, too, but they didn't have to sneak—"

"Booth!" she cut him off. "Now, I'm talking about now. How did you get drugged this time?"

"How the hell should I know?" Booth groaned again, clutching his stomach.

Brennan stared at him, unsure of what to do. Obviously they needed help. She didn't know if this was something mild or something that would prove deadly. She still didn't understand how he could have been poisoned, and started to wonder if soon she'd be coming down with similar symptoms. At another moan from Booth she chided herself for just sitting around. She was tough, she could handle this. First things first—she needed to call for help.

She stood and moved towards her pack. Her cell phone was in the top pocket and she flipped it open, thumbing it on. As she waited for it to find a signal, Booth suddenly scrambled onto his hands and knees and propelled himself towards the underbrush at the side of the trail. She dropped the phone onto her pack and rushed over to him just as he began retching. She was familiar with taking care of Angela after she had too much to drink, but Booth had no hair to hold away from his face. Instead she placed her hand on his back and rubbed gentle circles over the damp cotton of his shirt. When he seemed done, she helped him to move back towards the trail.

"Let me get you some water," she offered. She picked up his water bottle off the ground and brought it to his lips. Cool, clear water trickled into his mouth before she realized her stupidity. She pulled the bottle away and stared at it, horrified. It could very well be the water that was poisoned. He'd just had some shortly before getting sick.

"Come on, Bones, I need some more."

"Booth, I think it's the water," she explained. Understanding passed across his eyes and he nodded. He seemed to be concentrating on something. She felt terrible for giving him more water.

"My gun," he said. Brennan stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Take it, in my ankle holster." She obliged quickly then looked at him questioningly. "I can't think, if, uh, you know..." he paused, frowning.

"If the killer comes back?" she offered.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I don't know if I can protect you." The idea of him protecting her in his state seemed almost absurd, but she was touched that he was concerned for her safety while he was so obviously distressed himself.

"I'm going to call for help. You stay here," she instructed him.

"I don't think anyone's gonna hear you, Bones," he sighed dramatically.

She glanced at him warily, then rose to fetch her cell phone. She fervently hoped she'd be able to get reception. Before she reached her phone, she noticed another hiker coming around the bend. She breathed a sigh of relief at having someone to help her with Booth. She gave him a wave in welcome.

"Need some help?" the man called to her. It must look very strange, coming upon a man collapsed on the ground and a woman standing amid the scattered contents of a pack.

"My partner's sick," she told him.

"Your partner?"

"Yes, he's FBI. I'm going to call 911, then I'll need help getting him to the shelter," she said.

In her state of near-panic, she hadn't recognized the man right away. But as she crouched toward her phone on the ground, Brennan froze, remembering. She looked up at him sharply.

"You're the man I passed a half hour ago," she accused.

She could see him hesitate. "Oh, that's right. Sorry I didn't recognize you, don't have my glasses on," he smiled. She recalled him incessantly adjusting his glasses; she could see them poking out of his breast pocket.

"But you were heading south," she said. "Why did you come back here?" She felt she knew the answer, but didn't want to make a snap judgment and be wrong. Booth was the one with intuition, not her, and right now he was looking back and forth between the two of them, seeming not to comprehend what they were saying.

The man unbuckled the straps on his pack and lowered his gear to the ground. His smile seemed to be frozen on his face and she felt her spine tingle.

"I can help," he offered. "I'll get him off the trail. Without our packs, we can make it back much quicker. I can even carry him some of the way if need be." He did look capable of such a feat. The man was about Booth's height and much broader in the shoulders and chest.

Brennan shook her head at him and took a step backwards as he had stopped just a few short feet away from her. Something shifted in his eyes and Brennan felt rather than saw the man's walking stick swing up from his side, aimed towards her head. She managed to duck just enough that the blow of the wood to her head was only glancing, though in her quick movement, she fell backwards over the sleeping bag she hadn't noticed behind her.

On her side, lying half atop the damned sleeping bag, she saw him standing over her, walking stick raised above his head. She lashed out with her foot and connected with the side of his knee, causing his leg to buckle. As he stumbled, she scrambled to her feet. She pulled the gun from her waistband and aimed it at the man.

"You need to stop right there," she told him, flicking the safety off. Adrenaline had flooded her system for what felt like the hundredth time in a scant ten minutes and she felt shaky, twitchy, ready to burst with energy.

The man gazed at her, a skeptical smirk marring his features. "And what's a pretty little lady like you gonna do with that?" he asked.

"Booth, I need your handcuffs," she called, hoping that he would be able to find them in the mess.

She glanced over in his direction and was surprised to see Booth get to his feet, holding a wicked-looking knife. Her eyes fixed briefly on the blade, almost four inches long, curved on the top and partially serrated. This was no Swiss Army knife. What alarmed her most of all was the way Booth was swaying unsteadily on his feet, and the way he squinted at her, then the killer, then back to her.

Without warning, she felt a sharp blow across her chest and shoulder. The man had flung his walking stick at her while she was distracted with Booth. As she stumbled backwards, tripping once again over the wretched sleeping bag, she saw him run off down the trail then veer into the forest. To her horror, Booth gave chase.

"Booth!" she screamed. "Stop!"

She struggled to her feet, watching Booth stagger down the trail. Visions of him falling and impaling himself on that terrible knife popped into her head. Once on her feet, she took off after him, calling his name urgently. As if in slow motion, she saw his feet slip from under him. His arms flailed outwards then he pulled them in front of him. He toppled to the ground. Her breath caught.

When she reached him she flung him over onto his back, hastily searching for blood. There was nothing, he only looked dazed.

"Booth, where's the knife?" she urged.

"What knife?" he mumbled.

She rolled her eyes at him and glanced around. She found the knife sitting a few feet away and picked it up. After examining it briefly, she folded the blade into the handle and helped Booth to his feet. She glanced into the forest where the man had run off but saw nothing.

"Coulda got him, Bones," Booth said.

Brennan hummed absently as she focused on getting him back to their gear. She held his arm with one hand and guided him with her other arm slung around his back, her hand on his hip. There were so many things that needed to be done to effect their rescue and she felt overwhelmed. She tried to be alert in case the killer returned, but it was difficult with a full grown man stumbling and bumping into her while muttering nonsensical phrases.

After what seemed like an exceedingly long walk, she deposited Booth next to their packs. She needed to call for help first, that much was clear. After retrieving her phone, she dialed 911 and waited anxiously for the call to go through. When the operator came on the phone, she gave them as much information about their location and Booth's condition as she could. After much stressing of the point that he was an FBI agent who was injured in the line of duty, that she had no idea how severe his condition was, and that there was a serial killer lurking in the woods probably hoping to come back and finish them off, she was informed that the Shenandoah Mountain Rescue Group would be dispatched immediately. It would take them several hours to organize the effort and then to actually reach them.

Brennan disconnected the call and surveyed the scene before her. She needed to come up with a plan, a set of priorities. She still hadn't searched the patch of _Trillium cernuum_ for DNA evidence, that was high on her list. Booth's safety was also paramount, and at the moment he was sitting relatively still, holding his stomach and groaning. She hoped that continued vomiting would help lessen the symptoms, although that would lead to dehydration. Well, while he was fairly calm she could sweep the area with her forensic light source. She located her light and squatted down in front of Booth.

"Booth, listen to me." She waited for him to look at her, but he didn't. She slipped her finger under his chin and tilted his head until he looked her in the eyes. "I need to go into the woods for a minute. Can you stay right here?"

He nodded at her, though his eyes looked out of focus. She figured it was the best she was going to get.

As she moved off the trail, the weight of the knife in her pocket and the clammy metal of the gun at the small of her back comforted her. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but that didn't mean she liked being in situations were she needed to be on the defensive. When she flicked on the light source and aimed it at the Trillium, she was momentarily shocked to see huge splotches of purple light covering the branches and surrounding area. But then she thought of Booth's vomiting and had her explanation. She collected several leaves and branches as evidence and turned to head back.

Even from well within the woods, she could see Booth crouched in front of his pack, searching through it. What was he looking for now? She jogged towards him, careful not to trip. She saw him rise abruptly and turn toward her, pointing another gun vaguely in her direction. She froze. He squinted into the woods, clearly having a hard time distinguishing her from the trees at this distance.

"I can't let you hurt her," he called out. He glanced to his left, then to his right. "Bones? Where'd you go?"

She stepped toward him, but at the sound of underbrush crackling under her feet, he swung the gun back toward her.

"Booth, it's me," she told him, trying to keep her voice calm.

He leaned forward, straining to see her. "Bones?"

"Yes, Booth. Put the gun down so I can come back to help you."

"But the killer's out here. I heard him."

She groaned quietly. Why could he never listen to her? "Booth, the killer's gone. Put the gun down. You don't want to shoot me by accident, do you?"

"No," he said simply, though he didn't move.

She was rapidly losing her patience. "The gun, Booth."

Booth glance down at the gun in his hand. "Oh, right." He dropped it to the ground carelessly and plopped down next to it.

When she was back on the trail, she picked up the gun and glared at him. "You almost shot me," she grumbled. He didn't seem to hear her.

Her next move wasn't so clear. Conventional wisdom was to stay in one spot if awaiting rescue, but she didn't like the idea of staying here when she didn't know where the killer was. Her instinct was to get them to a shelter where she might be able to better defend them both. There might be other people there, too, discouraging the killer from coming after them.

The problem was, she had three packs and a woozy FBI agent who couldn't carry anything. She needed to bring some of their supplies, and she didn't want to leave the killer's pack here. She supposed she could carry the essentials in her pack and perhaps drag the killer's behind her. She'd have to leave the majority of Booth's gear behind, but it couldn't be helped. Booth was quiet for now, thankfully. She wondered if he had any more weapons on him—that second gun had surprised her.

"Booth?"

He hummed in response.

"Do you have any other weapons?" she asked.

"Lots," he said, and began rattling off a long list. After a moment of alarm, she realized he couldn't possibly have all this on him. Maybe he was being literal.

"Okay, which weapons did you bring with you?"

"The two guns and my knife," he answered.

Reassured, she set about sorting through their gear. She could ditch the vast majority of what they had brought with them, barring the items from her forensics kit. Into her pack she stuffed Booth's spare clothes, their toilet paper, a loop of rope, a ground cover, and some of the cheese they had brought as well as an energy bar. She didn't bother packing any food for Booth, figuring he wouldn't be able to hold it down. She picked up their first aid kits to compare them and searched for something she might be able to give Booth to ease his symptoms. The anti-nausea medication was not an option as it would probably be better for him to vomit. She found a packet of anti-diarrheal medication and contemplated it. Well, he hadn't shown any signs of increased gastric motility, but it seemed a likely progression. She tossed him the packet and instructed him to swallow the pills.

He struggled with the packet. She knelt in front of him to help him and as she ripped the packaging open, he clutched his stomach and groaned. Her eyes widened in alarm as he leaned forward and vomited. It splattered spectacularly, soaking through her pants to her knees. She stared at the mess in frustration. When she looked up at him, she found him glaring at her.

"You got in my way," he accused.

"I did not, Booth," she complained. "I was helping you."

"I don't need your help," he said petulantly.

Brennan clenched her jaw, struggling to stay calm. She held out her palm, offering him the two tablets. He snatched them from her and glared. She thought of giving him the water bottle out of spite but restrained herself. He'd have to swallow them dry.

At that thought, she emptied out all their bottles of water. Booth swore at her vehemently. She couldn't blame him; it was a risky decision, but she couldn't be sure that they weren't contaminated as well. The shelter was only three miles away, and even with them moving slowly, it shouldn't take more than a couple of hours. If they were very lucky, she might find another hiker to help carry the packs, letting them get there more quickly.

She needed to change her clothes and hesitated to do so in front of Booth. Remembering the last time she left him alone, she decided not to risk it. Before pulling off her pants, she retrieved an evidence bag and collected some of the vomitus. Beside her, Booth snickered.

"Once a squint, always, uh, you know..." he trailed off.

"Always a squint?" she suggested, sighing deeply.

"Yeah, that's it."

She peeled off her pants and quickly pulled on new ones. Booth didn't seem to notice and she was grateful. She finished packing quickly, tossing into the pack their empty water bottles, a flashlight, the knife, one of the guns, and all of Booth's spare ammunition. She also decided to bring the better of the two sleeping bags and her tent. Their discarded gear lay in a pile on the trail and she contemplated it for a moment before shoving it into the other pack. She carried it well off the trail and left it near the patch of _Trillium cernuum. _After adjusting the straps on the killer's pack so she could more easily drag it, she hoisted her backpack onto her shoulders and prodded Booth.

"Time to go," she said.

"Time to go where?" He looked up at her from where he sat on the ground.

She held out her hand and he took it without question. She managed to pull him to his feet and indicated the trail ahead of them.

"To your succor," she said simply.


	8. Chapter 8

My undying gratitude to FauxMaven and my husband for their excellent advice on this chapter.

Not much fluff to this chapter, but there will be a good deal more in the next one.

Disclaimer: It's 90 degrees here and I've only got a crappy little fan blowing warm air at me while I type this out on an ancient laptop. Do you really think I own Bones?

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Brennan's legs dangled from the platform, swinging gently back and forth. The wood felt rough and weathered under her palms as they rested alongside her thighs. She watched her fellow hikers moving about the clearing, eating dinner, reading books, or just relaxing after a long hike. Brennan, too, was grateful for a moment's rest. Booth was relatively quiet at the moment: he sat with his back to the corner of the shelter, knees drawn to his chest. He rested his head on his knees and only groaned or mumbled something from time to time.

This was a vast improvement over his behavior on the trail. The three mile hike had been torture for both of them, although she was sure it had been rougher on Booth. He had only vomited once while they were walking, but when abdominal cramps had come on she had barely been able to keep him moving. It seemed like every five or ten steps he would either trip and fall or else just sink to the ground in a fit of obstinate, paranoid muttering. It was all she could do to pull him to his feet and urge him on further. She was a little embarrassed to admit that she had even resorted to bribery, figuring that in his confused state he wouldn't remember, much less ask for his bribe when they reached the shelter.

And he certainly hadn't. When they finally arrived, he had lurched down the path that led to the water source, wobbling and zigzagging along the way. She had stopped him from plunging his head directly into the stream, but it had been a close thing. He drank the water as fast as she could filter it and then promptly vomited it back up. Her lesson learned, she only let him have small sips of water after that, despite his pleading and grousing about his dry throat.

The hikers still glanced worriedly at her and Booth from time to time. She had apprised them all of the situation since she could not hide illness. At times he seemed completely oblivious to his surroundings, like now, but other times he would argue vigorously with Brennan or whoever else was around. Even more disturbing, he would occasionally dissolve into fits of laughter for no apparent reason.

Glancing at her watch, Brennan groaned. She had called the Shenandoah Mountain Rescue Group upon reaching the shelter to give them an update on their location and Booth's status. Once she had gotten a moment to sit and think about their situation, she had recognized the familiarity of Booth's symptoms. She was fairly certain that he had been poisoned with _Atropa belladonna_, commonly known as just Belladonna. She had told the rescue group her suspicions, hoping that they could perhaps bring an antidote. While she had them on the phone, she also requested an estimated time of arrival. According to her watch, she still had at least two hours to wait.

While Booth was quiet, Brennan decided to call the lab to check in. She pulled the phone from her pocket and turned it on, waiting for it to find a signal. After a moment, she dialed Angela's office.

"Angela Montenegro," the artist answered.

"Hey, Ange, it's me."

"Bren! How's it going?"

"It could always be worse, I suppose. But Booth's not well, we're waiting for the rescue group to arrive."

The alarm in Angela's voice was unmistakable. "Rescue group? What's going on up there?"

"Booth was poisoned. He's almost totally incapacitated. But don't worry, I was able to fight off the killer," she reassured Angela.

"The killer? He's up there?"

"Yes, Angela, who else would have poisoned Booth? Anyway, he took off and I only have a few bruises and a cut on my forehead. Oh, and the gash on my stomach. But everything is fine." More or less.

"Oh my god, sweetie, are you sure you guys are okay up there? What if the killer comes back? Does Booth have a gun?"

Brennan rolled her eyes. "Booth would be more of a danger to himself and to me if he had a gun. He already nearly shot me once. No, I took all of his weapons away."

"He nearly shot you?" Angela sounded incredulous and Brennan couldn't blame her.

"I'm sure it was just because of his blurred vision and he may have been hallucinating, too," she said.

There was a pause at the other end of the phone. "Bren, I don't think you should do field work anymore."

Brennan chuckled. "Have you guys made any progress on the case?"

"Yeah, hold on," Angela sighed. She was gone for a minute before Brennan heard a click and the rush of noise that indicated being put on speaker.

"Zack's going to tell you about what he found," Angela told her.

"Hi, Dr. Brennan," Zack started. "We've been able to identify the murder weapon. The markings on the bone were made by a combination shovel and pick. I took Booth's suggestion and looked at camping gear first—the four inch pick matches the markings exactly."

"Great job, Zack," she said. Maybe such a pick was in the killer's pack. "Is Hodgins there?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Booth's been poisoned. I'm fairly certain it's _Atropa belladonna_. I want you to see if Lessard and Chouinard were poisoned as well."

"What are his symptoms?" Hodgins asked.

Brennan glanced back at her partner. "Nausea, vomiting, loss of balance, blurred vision, dilated pupils, confusion, abdominal pain, dry throat, tachycardia, and possibly hallucinations."

From behind her, Booth groaned. "My head," he muttered.

"And a headache," Brennan added.

"Okay, I'll get right on it, Dr. Brennan."

"I have the killer's pack with me, I'll have it sent to you as soon as we're off the trail," she told them. "I have to check on Booth now."

"Sweetie, please be careful," Angela said, clearly worried.

"I'm always careful," Brennan said and disconnected the call.

Shoving the phone back into her pocket, she turned around and crawled up to Booth, sitting down next to him. She took his wrist between her fingers and felt for his pulse. He lifted his head and stared at her hand. She had noticed that his heart was racing earlier and as she counted the beats now, she was slightly reassured to see that he wasn't out of breath and didn't seem to have any chest pain. Brennan offered him a sip of water which he took gratefully. When she took the bottle away before he was ready, Booth glared at her.

"You're spiteful," he grumbled.

She sighed. "I know. How do you feel?"

"I think my head is going to explode."

"Explode?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Will you leave me alone?"

Brennan leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. She knew he didn't mean any of what he was saying and she did feel bad for him. But she was also exhausted, physically and emotionally. While his symptoms didn't seem life threatening at the moment, Belladonna poisoning could be fatal and she wasn't sure how much he had in his system. His dehydration could lead to serious kidney problems and if the tachycardia got worse or lasted too long he could be in serious trouble. She struggled constantly to stay calm. After all, she had just told Booth that panicking was unproductive. But it was one thing to know that rationally and another thing to control the fear that gnawed at her stomach.

It was getting dark out and she still had to manage a modest hike down the mountain. With a sigh, she began preparing their supplies for nightfall. She safely discarded the food that the killer had been carrying and set his pack next to where they would sleep in the shelter. She had eaten what little food she had brought along so she felt safe leaving their pack inside the shelter as well. After setting up their one sleeping bag on top of the ground cover, she cajoled Booth into climbing in.

She sat behind him, leaning against the rear wall of the shelter, Booth's weapons concealed behind her. Struggling to draw Booth close to her, she pulled him between her legs and settled his head on her abdomen. She knew she was inviting him to ruin another pair of her pants if he got sick again, but she didn't want to risk not hearing him get up in the night.

"Try to get some sleep, Booth. The rescue team will be here in a few hours," she told him.

She couldn't hear what he mumbled, and his eyes were only half closed, but she was unable to keep herself from dozing. She fell quickly into an uncomfortable slumber.

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A wavering beam of light fell across Brennan's face, urging her awake. She raised a hand to cover her eyes from the glare and tried to go back to sleep, but the voices wouldn't stop. Finally, the fog in her mind cleared and she realized the voices were calling her name. She squinted, trying to see through the brilliance, and mercifully the light was lowered. Dimly, she could make out the shapes of several men standing just outside the shelter.

"Dr. Temperance Brennan?" one of the men asked.

"Yes. This is Seeley Booth. Special Agent," she corrected herself, clearing the sleep from her voice.

"Yes ma'am. I'm Trevor White with the Shenandoah Mountain Rescue Group. How's he doing?"

She blinked and looked down at the still form resting against her. His chest was rising and falling steadily but she couldn't see if his eyes were open.

"I don't know, I was asleep. He's been calm but in pain since seven o'clock or so."

Slowly her eyes adjusted to the fitful light. The man who had identified himself as Trevor was middle-aged, had ruddy skin and a mass of thick brown curls, and he looked competent. He reminded her a little of Hodgins. The other men were similarly rugged-looking. She felt an immense sense of relief at being able to share the burden of this ordeal with people who knew what they were doing. One of the men stepped forward, much younger than the others, maybe in his mid-twenties.

"Dr. Brennan, I'm Chris. I'm an EMT. We have a Medevac chopper waiting at the trailhead for your partner. Before we move him, could you tell me a little about his condition?" he asked earnestly.

Brennan went through the long list of symptoms, explaining when it had started and how it had progressed. The man called Chris took notes as she talked. The other men set about preparing a stretcher that they would use to carry Booth down to the waiting helicopter. Booth's head was heavy on her belly and his sweat had soaked through her shirt. Her muscles grew impatient with the need to stretch and move but she kept still, not waiting to disturb him until they were ready. Finally they told her they were ready and she reached out to touch Booth's shoulder. She rubbed circles on his shoulder, then shook him gently.

Booth emitted a strangled cry and propelled himself to his feet with amazing speed. The sleeping bag pooled around his feet as he stared wildly around. His gaze fell on the group of men standing outside the shelter and he raised his fists, his lip curling. The men stared at him, frozen with alarm.

Pulling herself to her feet, Brennan reached out to still Booth's arm but as he felt her touch, he lashed out, pushing her back into the wall. He leaped off the edge of the shelter, rushing towards the closest of the men. Booth's shoulder connected with the man's chest and they both fell to the ground. Two of the men grabbed at Booth, trying to pull him off their colleague. Booth's fists flailed, catching one of the men in the jaw. The man who seemed to be in charge, Trevor, yelled at the EMT to get a sedative.

Brennan sat where she had fallen, watching the melee with a detached kind of fascination. She saw the EMT, Chris, manage to inject Booth with something. Booth continued to struggle for a few minutes before calming, finally collapsing off to the side of the poor man he'd had pinned underneath him.

A hush fell over the clearing and Brennan was aware that she could no longer hear the muffled snores and snuffles of her fellow hikers. The ruckus surely must have awakened everyone at the campsite. Trevor climbed into the shelter and helped Brennan to her feet.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

She nodded at him. "I'm fine. What did you give him?"

Chris spoke up, "The first injection was a sedative." He was kneeling next to Booth, starting an intravenous line. "Now I'm giving him diazepam, and then physostigmine to counteract the anticholinergic symptoms."

Nodding at the EMT, she thanked him. While the majority of the rescue group worked quickly to properly strap Booth to the stretcher, two men approached her. They introduced themselves as FBI agents and questioned her briefly about the poisoning and the brief fight with the killer. Apparently they had been brought up to date on the case and seemed to know what they were talking about. The men told her that they would question the other hikers here before heading back down the trail. She gave them specific instructions regarding the killer's pack and the other evidence she had gathered.

The rescuers were well-practiced and efficient; it wasn't long before they set off along the trail. Brennan could hear the other FBI agents questioning the first group of hikers and she felt sympathy for them, knowing they would probably be up just as late as she would be.

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A light tap on her shoulder roused Brennan from her dreams. The chair she had fallen asleep in was unyielding and her muscles shouted in protest. Sunlight streamed through the windows in the waiting room and Brennan blinked to clear her vision. She looked up to see Angela standing above her, offering her a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

"Thanks, Ange," she mumbled.

"Yeah, not that you deserve it. Do you know what I had to do to find out where you were? Why didn't you call me when you got back?"

Brennan shook her head. "It was late and things were under control."

Angel hummed in response. "How's Booth?"

"I haven't heard anything for a while, I guess they just let me sleep."

She glanced around for someone who could give her an update, but the hallways were quiet. It must still be early. The floor to which Booth had been admitted was a contradiction of silence and incessant noise. She could hear the steady whine and monotonous beeping of machines, but no voices or movements of people.

Angela indicated the butterfly bandages on Brennan's forehead. "They didn't use stitches on that?"

Shaking her head, Brennan said, "No. It wasn't deep enough to require them. The laceration on my abdomen would have, but it's been more than 24 hours so they won't suture it. They just used more butterfly bandages."

"How did you get cut there?"

Brennan told her about the tree and falling and how Booth blew ever so gently across her skin to ease the sting. Angela grinned.

"So, I know this is a serious situation and everything, but did you get to talk to Booth at all?"

"No. He tried to explain himself in the car, and I more or less understood what he said. But I told him I didn't want to talk about it right then."

Angela nodded and the two friends lapsed into silence, occasionally taking sips of their coffee. When Brennan was feeling sufficiently awake, she told Angela she was going to find someone to tell her about Booth.

The nurses station was at the far end of the hallway and as she approached she became aware of the bustle that never really stopped in a hospital, even at night. She hoped she would be able to get Booth transferred to a hospital in D.C., but she wasn't sure how long he would need to stay. Regardless, she definitely appreciated Angela making the drive out here.

She stood at the counter for a moment, looking for someone who didn't look totally absorbed in anything vital. She finally caught the eye of one of the nurses. Identifying herself as Special Agent Seeley Booth's partner, she asked if there was a doctor around who could apprise her of Booth's condition. The nurse spoke quietly to a white-haired Indian man who was dictating orders to another nurse. The man rose and approached her, a gentle smile on his face.

"I'm Dr. Saeed," he told her. "Let's go into the family room."

The family room was a much smaller room, separate from the waiting area. The doctor indicated a chair for her to sit in but Brennan remained standing. She'd had enough sitting.

"Please, Dr. Saeed. How is Agent Booth?"

"He's doing much better. We haven't been able to confirm that he was indeed poisoned by Belladonna, but the medications we've been giving him have resolved all of his symptoms."

Brennan nodded. "So what is his condition now?"

"He's doing much better. Our only real concern right now is that his dehydration may have damaged his kidneys. We're rehydrating him and if his kidneys are fine, he should be back to normal quite soon."

"When can I see him?"

"You can go now if you like. He's most likely still asleep, though."

The doctor showed her which was Booth's room and she thanked him before quietly opening the door. He was indeed still asleep, so Brennan closed the door again and headed down to the waiting room. After giving Angela an update on Booth's condition, she told her friend that she didn't have to wait around for her, and that she'd call the lab later. Angela rolled her eyes and assured Brennan that she'd be there in the waiting room when she was ready for breakfast.

Back at the door to Booth's room, Brennan waited for a nurse wheeling a noisy medication cart to go past before easing herself through the doorway. She seated herself in the rocking chair near Booth's bed and let her eyes roam over Booth's still body. Bruises had bloomed on his arms and what she could see of his chest. Fluid trickled from a bag hanging above the bed through Booth's IV and the pulse oximeter made his index finger glow pink. She watched the numbers on the monitor indicating his heart rate fluctuate slightly, though well within the normal range.

Rationally, she knew she had done nothing to cause Booth's condition, nor could she have prevented it, but still she felt something akin to guilt as she sat there watching her unconscious partner. Nothing had gone smoothly for them lately and she had been hoping that this case would be a straightforward one and that they'd be able to spend some time working out their fledgling romantic relationship. That idea was laughable now, with Booth abed. But she had so wanted to make some progress and the memory of his lips on hers tormented her.

She watched the clock, wondering when Booth would wake up. As the hour hand approached nine o'clock, Brennan decided she would need to call the lab soon. She needed to make sure that the evidence had arrived at the Jeffersonian.

After watching Booth for another few minutes, Brennan rose and quietly left the room, shutting the door behind her. In the waiting room, she collapsed into the chair across from Angela.

"How does he look?" Angela asked.

"Not bad. He's bruised from all the falling, but he's lucky he didn't break anything. He's still sleeping."

Angela nodded. "Going to call the lab?"

In answer, Brennan picked up the receiver of the phone on the table next to her and dialed Cam's office. She gave her superior a rundown of Booth's injuries and his recovery, then asked about the killer's pack. She could just barely hear Zack's voice in the background.

"Zack says the pack just arrived," Cam told her.

"Okay. The pick he mentioned might be in there. Can you transfer me to Hodgins' workstation?"

"Sure. Are you going to stay with Booth?" Cam asked

"Yes. Hopefully he should be able to come home soon."

Cam signalled her assent before transferring the call to Hodgins.

"Hey, Dr. Brennan. How's Booth?"

"He's better. They haven't been able to confirm that it was _Atropa belladonna_. There might be some more poison in the killer's pack. If not, I also sent you a sample of Booth's vomitus. Maybe you could find out if it was Belladonna before the doctors here can."

"You collected a specimen of Booth's vomit?" Hodgins asked.

"That's what I said."

"Dr. Brennan, that is so not cool."

"What? Why not?"

"You couldn't leave him just a shred of his dignity, could you? I mean, he's what, falling down, babbling, vomiting everywhere, as if that's not bad enough."

"I'm sure Booth will understand."

"Yeah, don't count on it. I'll get to work on the specimens."

Brennan thanked him before hanging up. She put the phone back into her pocket and leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes. More than anything, she just needed a bed. She would give anything for somewhere comfortable to lie down. Somehow, though, she got the feeling that wasn't going to be an option any time soon.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I wrote to Fox, complaining that they didn't list me in the credits on Bones. It turns out you need to actually be involved in making the show, which, y'know, I'm not. Oh well.

I know this is short, but it's coming only two days after a nice long chapter, so no complaining allowed.

If I haven't said it already, FauxMaven is an awesome beta. Thanks!

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The incessant beeping in the hospital room was slowly driving Booth insane. His eyes were closed to the room and its other occupant, trying to tune out reality for a little while longer. The dull ache in his muscles made it hard to stay still but he was grateful that he wasn't more seriously injured. He felt an itch arise on his scalp and his fingers twitched with the need to scratch it. The itch grew nearly unbearable, teasing him, begging for a little relief, before finally subsiding. He heard the person in the chair next to him shift, a rustle of clothing that signaled impatience or maybe worry. Finally he heard her rise and head to the other side of the room. He cracked open an eye just to see the back of Brennan's head disappear around the door. Booth let out a sigh.

He felt bad for pretending to sleep while she clearly wanted to talk to him but he couldn't handle it just yet. He remembered all too clearly the events of the previous twenty-four hours and as much as he tried to ignore it, his insides writhed every time he recalled what had happened.

It wasn't really his fault and he knew that. He had been poisoned and if Brennan hadn't been there, he most likely would have been another victim for her to identify and examine. Still, he couldn't help feeling like he should have been better able to resist the effects of the drug. If only he hadn't thrown up all over Brennan, tried to shoot her, and then attacked his rescuers. He could accept that he had been whiny, that wasn't a big deal. But he also remembered saying some awfully cruel things to his partner when she had been trying to help him.

No, he wasn't quite ready to talk to her yet.

Before long there was another knock at the door and Booth hastily shut his eyes. He heard the squeak of sneakers and felt someone fiddling with the intravenous line in his arm. Opening his eyes, he saw a young woman, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. Her cartoon character-covered scrubs stretched tight around her clearly pregnant belly. Booth smiled up at her.

"Good morning, Agent Booth," she said, then indicated her hospital badge. "I'm Charity, I'll be your nurse today."

He nodded at her and watched her switch the empty bag of IV fluids for a new one. As she adjusted the valve, he felt a rush of coolness spread up his arm.

"That might be a little cold," she told him belatedly, an apologetic smile gracing her lips. "How are you feeling?"

"Much better," he told her.

She showed him a ridiculous chart of ten faces, with expressions ranging from neutral to what passed as extreme agony for a smiley face. "How would you rate your pain?"

After a moment of considering the faces, he indicated the one above the number three, the face with a straight line for a mouth.

Booth sat patiently while she checked his vitals and made accompanying notes on his chart. She offered him more pain medication which he declined for the time being. Watching her stand and head out the door, he was chagrined to see Brennan waiting for the nurse to leave.

"Hey, Bones," he mumbled as she came in and reclaimed her spot next to him.

"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly, her worry plainly shown in her eyes.

"Better," he said, then paused. "A little embarrassed."

Brennan quirked an eyebrow at him. "What for?"

Gesturing meekly, he said, "You know, yesterday. Everything."

He held his gaze on his blanket-covered feet but he could feel her eyes on him.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "Hodgins said I shouldn't have done it. I didn't think it would make you feel bad."

Turning to look at her, Booth gave her a confused look. "What are you talking about?"

"The vomit, of course. As it turns out, there really wasn't much of a need for me to collect it anyway, but I didn't know that would be the case at the time." Her cheeks were tinged with pink and she looked abashed.

He had forgotten all about her collecting his vomit as evidence and he felt himself sink a little deeper into his shame. He couldn't really blame her for doing what she had thought was necessary, but still. Letting his head rest back on the pillow, he gazed up at the ceiling.

"Is that not what you were talking about?" she questioned.

"No, it wasn't. Well, sort of, I guess."

They were silent for a while, only the sound of the machines and the rustling of clothes and sheets filling the room. He glanced at her occasionally, wondering if she felt as awkward as he did. She didn't look it. Briefly he thought of telling her that he was tired but he didn't want to hurt her feelings.

"So, uh, did you find anything in the killer's pack? Or have your squints learned anything from the bodies?" He felt like this was a safe topic and that if he could prove himself here, it would make up for some of his behavior the day before.

"Zack identified the murder weapon," she told him. "It was a shovel and pick combination tool. They'll check to see if he was carrying one with him. Hodgins will try to confirm that it was _Atropa belladonna_ that you were poisoned with since the doctors here haven't been able to."

"No ID on that last victim?"

Brennan shook her head in response. Booth was starting to feel a little better with something productive to concentrate on. He tried to assemble a picture of how the killer worked.

"So the guy picks his victims at random and poisons their water, right?" He waited for Brennan's nod. "He shows up after they're feeling the effects and offers to help them off the trail. He punctures their throats with a pick, then stores the bodies in that storage facility."

"Right."

"But we found where he had been hiding the bodies. So if he's looking for more victims, that would indicate that he's found another place to store the bodies," Booth suggested.

"That seems likely," she conceeded. "Unless he's just going to keep them wherever he kills them."

Booth shrugged. "He had to have had a reason for moving the bodies to that storage space. I don't think he'd change his method now." He reached up to rub his chin. "We need to check all the local storage places to see if anyone has come in that matches our killer's description."

Nodding in agreement, Brennan said, "I can have Angela send along her enhancement of the fake driver's license the guy used at the storage facility."

"That would be great," he responded, watching her stand and move towards the door. "Tell everyone at the lab I say Hi."

"Angela's here. She's in the waiting room."

"She's here? Why'd she come all the way up here?"

Brenna flushed and looked down at her hands. "I think she thought I needed, um, emotional support." When she glanced up, she gave him a pointed look. "Do you want to see her?"

"Sure," he said, and she left the room. Emotional support? Brennan must have been more scared about the killer than he thought.

When Angela came into the room, she gave him a gentle hug and spent several minutes fussing over him before he managed to convince her that he was really alright. Brennan looked distinctly uncomfortable. The women sat and they all chatted for a while. Angela was able to keep the mood light and Booth was grateful for the distraction. Eventually she told them that she was going to head back to D.C. and get to work. When she left, Booth and Brennan lapsed into silence again.

It was Booth that spoke first.

"I'm sorry that I wasn't able to be there for you. I didn't realize how, uh, upset you were about fending off the killer."

"What do you mean? I wasn't scared of the killer," she said, puzzled.

"Well, you said you needed emotional support."

Brennan looked down at her lap. "I was sort of referring to being worried about you."

Averting his gaze out of embarrassment, Booth wondered what to do. He knew how Brennan felt about him, and he felt the same way towards her. But wasn't this just another example of the danger they faced?

"Listen, Bones—Temperance," he started.

"No, Booth," she interrupted. "I get that you're nervous about us. There's so much than can go wrong. But we've already made that first step and I don't think I want to go back to the way it was before." She had leaned forward and was staring at him with a kind of intensity in her eyes that made it difficult for him to focus.

"But it seems like every other day one of us is getting hurt or kidnapped or put in the hospital. What will it be like if we're, you know, involved?"

"The danger of our jobs isn't going to change because we're seeing each other." She paused, then said, "Booth, I don't want my life to be all work."

A stab of guilt pricked his heart and he wanted so badly to just agree to give it a try. But he had screwed up so much lately and the thought of starting a relationship that was rocky before it even got off the ground didn't seem right.

"Haven't you ever thought that if we were meant to be together, that it wouldn't be this hard?" he asked.

"No," she said simply.

"Listen, I know we've kind of already crossed a line. But maybe we should end it before it's too late. Before we ruin our partnership and our friendship."

Brennan stood and moved closer to his bed. She rested her arm on the rail near his head and gazed at him, her eyes flicking back and forth between his, as if searching.

"I think you're wrong. I think you're choosing to make it hard, and that you could choose to make it easy." She shrugged slightly. "I'll let you think about it. I'm tired and I need a bed." She glanced down at his hospital bed.

"But before I go..." Brennan trailed off and leaned down to him, bringing her face very close to his. She brushed her lips gently across his, testing. Of their own volition, his arms reached up and encircled her, the hand that was free of an IV burying itself in her hair. She ran her tongue along his lips, asking permission, and he opened his mouth to her. Her breasts pressed against his chest and she was so warm in his arms and in his mouth. He felt himself harden in response but before he could lose himself totally in her kiss, she pulled away.

She smiled at him, her expression a mix of sadness and seduction.

"I'll come back this evening," she told him, and left.

Booth shifted uncomfortably on his bed. Damn, was she persuasive.

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Just another little note.. that last little conversation was inspired by the song Cold Hands (Warm Heart), by Brendan Benson. That song was in The Boy in the Tree.


	10. Chapter 10

Okay, here's a little fluffy goodness. Sorry for the big delay in getting this out. There will be more case stuff in the next chapter. And of course, a big thank you to FauxMaven for helping me with this chapter.

Disclaimer: Sometimes I get sick of trying to come up with funny new ways of saying that I don't own Bones. Can we just pretend that I've said something hilarious here, and get on with the story?

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Temperance Brennan jogged down the hallway toward the waiting room. When she entered the room, she immediately picked up the phone on the little table and dialed Angela's number. As she waited for Angela to pick up, she chuckled quietly to herself. She hadn't planned on kissing him; the idea had just come to her. By the look on his face when she pulled away, it might have done the job of convincing him. At least, she hoped it had.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Ange. You haven't gotten that far, have you?"

"Nope, I stopped for coffee so I'm only about 15 minutes away. Need a ride?"

"Please. I'll meet you out front."

The hour drive back to the city went surprisingly fast. She ended up telling Angela about her conversation with Booth and Angela laughed when Brennan described the kiss. They avoided talking about the ordeal in the woods—Angela seemed to understand that Brennan had repeated the story often enough in the last few hours and didn't want to do so again. Angela stopped the car in front of Brennan's apartment after refusing to bring her to work. Brennan gave her friend a quick hug in gratitude and promised to get some sleep. She waved as the car pulled away from the curb and headed inside.

Despite her overwhelming need for sleep, Brennan decided a shower was more important than bed. As steam filled the bathroom, she pulled off her clothes and checked the bandages on her abdomen. She stepped into the shower and let the hot water course over her body, easing the soreness and stiffness that had built up in her muscles over the past two days. She remembered the awkwardness in the car with Booth as they drove up to the trail head in Maryland, amazed that it had been less than forty-eight hours ago. As she massaged shampoo into her hair she tried to imagine what Booth would do when he saw her next. She didn't think he would be out of the hospital until tomorrow at least, which meant she'd be able to visit him that evening after she'd had time to nap. She wondered whether he would have an answer for her or whether he would still need time to think about it.

After rinsing the shampoo from her hair, she lathered her skin with citrus and ginger root soap. The aroma filled the bathroom and she breathed in the humid air, thick with the scent of oranges. She knew that Booth would eventually get over his worries—their attraction was too strong to resist forever. Smiling in anticipation of being able to touch Booth in more than just her dreams and fantasies, she turned the water off and stepped out of the tub.

She dried herself off quickly, only sparing a glance in the mirror, disheartened at the sight of her weary expression. She pulled her hair up off her neck and into a bun. After spending several minutes brushing her teeth, she opened the door and padded naked into the bedroom. She opened her top drawer, pulled out a thin camisole and a pair of tiny shorts, and slipped them on. The encumbrance of her pack and hiking clothes and then a confining sleeping bag left her with a claustrophobic feeling. She lay down on her bed, on top of the blankets, and closed her eyes. Within minutes she was asleep.

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She had been dreaming of Booth before she awoke. Her limbs felt heavy with sleep but she felt another kind of heaviness in her belly, for the dream had been a particularly good one. She lay still on the cool blanket, the pillow under her head damp from her hair, wondering what had awakenedher. Then she heard the knock at her door.

Rising from her bed and moving quietly down the hallway, her head felt foggy from being awakenedbefore she was ready. She peered through the peephole and was shocked to see Booth. She pulled the door open quickly.

"Booth!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Hey, uh..." he hesitated, and she noticed his gaze traveling over her body. She glanced down and realized she was still in the camisole and shorts. She sighed, dismayed, before realizing that perhaps if the kiss hadn't worked, that this might.

"Yeah, hey, Bones," he finished a little lamely.

She took his hand and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. She turned on him, her hands on her hips.

"How did you get out of the hospital? You should be in bed. Please tell me you didn't drive," she said.

"Um, I didn't drive."

Brennan arched an eyebrow at him, waiting.

"Okay, I drove. They were going to let me go home in the morning, so I decided I might as well leave tonight." He shrugged his shoulders and she watched his eyes flick from her eyes to her lips, down to her breasts, and back up again.

"That's really quite unwise. What if you—"

"Temperance," he interrupted. "I needed to come and see you."

She hesitated at his admission. Unable to quite tell whether this was a good sign or a bad sign, she waited for him to elaborate. He took a step closer to her and his hand drifted up to rest on her arm.

"I couldn't stand the idea of you spending all night thinking that maybe I don't want you, Temperance, because I do." He focused on her face now, his eyes dark. "Believe me, I do."

Brennan swallowed and nodded at him. "So, does this mean..." she trailed off, her voice quiet.

For a moment he just stared at her and she was afraid he would say that he still didn't want to be with her. She felt a weight drop into her stomach and her muscles tensed, ready for flight. But then his lips were on hers, warm and rough, forceful, and his hands were on her back, pulling her tight against his body. She opened her mouth to him and felt his tongue dance across hers. She drew his lower lip into her mouth and sucked lightly.

Pulling back from her mouth, Booth kissed along her jaw, his tongue darting out here and there to taste her skin. He moved down her neck, pressing his mouth to her throat to feel her pulse, then down to her shoulder where he dragged his teeth along the ridge of her clavicle. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, gasping when she felt his teeth or his tongue.

When she felt his hands move to her sides and inch up towards her breasts, she stepped back and smiled at him. He raised his eyebrows at her.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked.

His shoulders slumped a little, but he grinned at her. "Incredibly."

Taking him by the hand, she led him over to her couch where he gratefully sat down and motioned for her to join him. She sat next to him and he slipped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close against him. He tilted his head back to rest on the pillows and she turned, wrapping her arms around him and placed her head on his chest. She could feel his heart thumping and couldn't help counting the beats, making sure the tachycardia had resolved.

This quiet comfort, this sense of security in his arms, the rightness of her pressed against his body—it was all new to Brennan and she kept still for a long time, reveling in his warmth. After a while she noticed his breathing become regular and realized he had fallen asleep. She cringed, feeling guilty for not insisting he lie down in bed.

When she was sure he was deeply asleep, she eased herself out of his embrace and spent a moment considering him. Even with the unusual paleness to his skin and the circles under his eyes, he still looked enticing. She stifled the urge to straddle his lap and instead bent to untie his shoes, then pulled them off carefully. She lifted his legs onto the couch and coaxed him into a prone position, slipping one of her throw pillows under his head. Mumbling something in his sleep, Booth rolled onto his side, though his eyes never opened.

Brennan moved quietly into the kitchen. It was still early in the evening, early enough that she really should go into the lab and work on the case. She stood at the counter, wondering whether she should leave Booth here or take the rest of the evening off. Making up her mind, she grabbed her cellphone from the counter and tiptoed into her bedroom. She dialed Angela's office.

"Angela Montenegro."

"Hey, Ange," Brennan said, trying to keep her voice low. "I'm not going to come in for the rest of the evening, if that's okay with Cam."

"Oh, I don't think she was expecting you. She figured you'd go back up to see Booth in the hospital."

"Actually, Booth checked himself out of the hospital and is asleep on my couch."

There was a brief pause on Angela's end. "Really? They let him out already?"

"Not exactly."

Angela sighed. "What is it with these guys leaving hospitals against medical advice? First Booth, then Hodgins, now Booth again."

"I know, it doesn't make any sense."

"So, why did he leave? Was it workaholic Booth or crazy-in-love-with-you Booth?"

"There's only one Booth, Ange," Brennan said, puzzled.

"You didn't answer my question."

Brennan flushed lightly. "He said he needed to see me. That he couldn't bear the idea of me thinking he didn't want me."

"That is sickeningly cute, sweetie. So it's settled between you two then?"

"I guess."

"Well, good. Just give it a day or two before you jump in bed with him, make sure you're both rested and all," Angela chuckled.

"Right. So how's work going on the case?" Brennan queried.

"Zack found a shovel/pick thingy in the pack that was definitely used to kill the victims. It has traces of blood on it, too. We'll test it for DNA."

"Okay, great. Anything else? Was there a license or anything, any ID?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Alright," Brennan sighed. "If anything comes up, I can come in if needed. Just let me know. Otherwise I'll be there in the morning."

"Okay. Tell Booth we all say Hi."

She put down her phone and looked at herself in the mirror. She thought she should probably change, especially if she didn't want to tempt Booth too much. She put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt but decided, after a moment of thought, to forgo a bra. Pulling her hair out of the elastic, she ran her fingers through it but left it looking a little tousled.

Back in the kitchen, Brennan contemplated dinner. She thought that Booth would appreciate a home-cooked meal after two days of trail food and then hospital food. Luckily, she had a few options for things she could make. Trying to move as quietly as possible, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a package of ground beef, a container of milk, and an egg. After putting the beef in a mixing bowl, she cracked the egg into it as well, wincing at the clink of shell against metal. In a separate bowl, she shredded a few slices of bread and soaked them in milk. While the bread absorbed the milk, she added to the beef some Worcestershire sauce, parsley, basil, and garlic. After wringing out the chilled, gooey bread, she put it in the bowl with the meat and began mixing it with her hands. The mixture was cold as it squished between her fingers, yellow egg yolk flowing into the crevices of the ground beef.

When the ingredients were properly mixed, she began rolling the mixture into balls, placing each one into a pan on the oven. She let her mind drift as she worked, finding comfort in the repetitive task. Before long her hands were rinsed and the meatballs were quietly sizzling in their pan. She put a pot of water on the stove, adding spaghetti when the water boiled. When the meatballs were cooked through, she added them to another pot into which she had poured a jar of sun dried tomato and garlic sauce. Her stomach rumbled as the warm scents of tomato and garlic filled the kitchen. She cleaned up while the food cooked, pleased that she had been able to cook a meal without waking Booth.

After setting her table and plating the food, she returned to the couch and knelt on the floor next to Booth. She hated to wake him but she knew if he slept much longer he'd be awake all night. Resting her hand on his thigh, she rubbed his leg gently, feeling his firm muscles through his jeans. His eyes flickered open and he smiled sleepily, reaching out to her. He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms tightly around her and burying his face in her hair as he mumbled his gratitude for the nap.

When he lifted his head, he frowned at her, though his eyes showed his amusement. "You changed your clothes."

She chuckled as she extricated herself from his grasp. "Come on, dinner's ready. Let's get up."

"You cooked? Bones, you shouldn't have," he grinned at her as he sat up and stretched.

She returned the grin. "Well, you're such a pleasure to cook for."

Brennan couldn't help blushing as they sat down at the table. She had set out her nicest dishes and even lit candles, but what had seemed a good idea earlier now felt a little contrived. Booth smiled at her, though, and the appreciative moan he gave as he sampled his meal helped put her worries at ease. They ate quietly at first, both focusing on sating their hunger. With her plate half empty, she set down her fork and turned to Booth.

"Why were you so hesitant with me before?" She always thought directness was best, and especially after such a trying few days, had no patience for subtlety.

Booth took a moment to finish chewing, then set down his fork as well.

"Well, I know this will probably surprise you, being that I'm so, you know, manly and all," he winked at her. "But I was scared. Well, I still am, really."

"What are you scared about?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Everything. About us taking unnecessary risks, about impairing our judgment, about us," he gestured back and forth between them, "not being as good as the, uh, tension would suggest." He grinned sheepishly. "You know, pretty much everything."

"I know," she nodded. "I'm worried about all of that as well."

They were silent for a moment before Brennan spoke again.

"What changed your mind?"

"Well, my therapist helped a little. But seeing that couple in the woods, you know, the first night? Well, I thought about how nice it would be to have that sort of thing with you, to be able to touch you and kiss you whenever I wanted, to call you goofy names—"

"You already call me goofy names," she interjected.

He waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Well, anyway, I decided that might be worth a little risk-taking and lack of judgment."

Brennan chuckled, thinking of what she did when Gallagher kidnapped Booth. "Yeah, because we never take risks or exercise poor judgment."

He grinned at her. "That's what Gordon Gordon said."

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With dinner finished, Booth and Brennan reclined on her couch. Brennan thought dinner had gone well; in addition to getting an explanation from him, Booth had certainly expressed his enthusiasm for her cooking. By unspoken agreement, they had not talked of the case while they ate, but now here in the living room, Brennan brought Booth up to date on everything that her team had discovered. Likewise, he had already called his office and told her that the FBI agents who had come along with the rescue group hadn't been able to get much useful information from the hikers at the shelter. As Booth spoke of the trail and the rescue, his mood darkened noticeably. Brennan placed her hand on his arm.

"I don't really know what that was like for you on the trail, but I'm sorry that you had to go through it," she said.

Booth snorted. "It wasn't that it was too painful or anything," he scoffed. "It's just, you know, that I should have been better able to handle it."

"Handle what, exactly?"

"Well, the drug. I mean, we were trained for that sort of stuff in the military."

Brennan rolled her eyes at him. "Come on, Booth. You clearly got a lot more of the drug than was intended. Remember how fast you drank your water?"

"I guess," he shrugged. "I just, well, I know I said some not so nice things to you. Then there was the whole vomiting all over you thing." A light pink tinge crept across his face as he spoke.

She chuckled and squeezed his forearm. "When you're feeling better, I'll let you make it up to me. How does that sound?"

"What did you have in mind?" he grinned.

Brennan shrugged and winked at him. "Surprise me."

"You're trouble, aren't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she smirked at him.

Booth stretched and yawned, hastily covering his mouth. "Sorry, speaking of not feeling one hundred percent. I should probably get home." He yawned again.

"Oh, right," she said and looked down at her hands. "Maybe you should stay here tonight." At Booth's startled cough, she glanced up at him, cheeks aflame.

"Sure, I can, you know, sleep in the guest room or something," he nodded.

"Well, right, if that's what you want," she mumbled.

"Bones," he said, grinning. "I don't think I have the energy to, uh, do anything other than sleep."

"No, I understand. I didn't think that, I just thought for the company, or something..." she trailed off, cringing inwardly at her babbling.

Abruptly he stood and took her hands in his, helping her to her feet. He pulled her hands to his lips, softly kissing her fingers. She kept her eyes downcast, embarrassed at her need to have him close. Booth slipped a finger under her chin and tilted her head up so that she was forced to meet his eyes. He leaned forward and gently brushed his lips across hers.

"Come on," he said, and led her to her bedroom.


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks so much to FauxMaven for her help with this chapter. I had fun writing it, and I hope you guys have fun reading it.

Disclaimer: I've watched all the Bones episodes ever made often enough that they should be mine, but they're not.

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Pale morning light seeped between the edges of the curtains at the window, creating blocks of light on the sheets and across Seeley Booth's face. He draped his arm across his eyes, trying to block out the light. Uncomfortable in that position, he rolled onto his side, away from the window, and slipped his arm over Temperance Brennan's waist instead. Easing himself across the bed, he pressed his chest to her back, the satin of her nightgown rubbing against his skin. He breathed in her scent, warm with sleep and more than a hint of citrus. His hand rested on her abdomen and he could feel her bandages beneath his palm. He slid his hand across her stomach to her side, then down to her hip, where her nightgown had ridden up during the night. His fingers traced lazy designs on the smooth skin of her thigh.

With a sigh and a groan, Temperance rolled over and gazed sleepily at him. She smiled.

"Morning, Booth. Sleep well?"

He nodded. He had slept better than he had in years. "You?"

She covered her mouth with her hand, yawning. "I did. I'm starving, though."

Booth chuckled and though he wanted nothing more than to stay in bed with her all day, he sat up and placed his feet on the floor.

"How about I take a quick shower and go grab us something to eat?" he suggested.

"That's not necessary. You shouldn't be out running errands, and I have food here anyway." She was still lying in bed, propping her head up with her hand. He grinned, watching her eyes roam over his bare chest.

"Well, can I still take a shower first?" He was sure she had felt his erection pressing against her ass, though she had been polite enough not to mention it. He needed to use the bathroom and to take a coldshower to rid him of the image of her stretched out on her bed, the thin material of her nightgown clinging to her form.

She nodded at him. "Please." She waved a hand in front of her nose, eyes sparkling with amusement. "You stink."

"Bones! That's not nice," he admonished. Before heading to the bathroom he circled the bed and gave her a lingering kiss at the base of her neck. "I'll be out in a few," he whispered in her ear.

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When he emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, clean and rejuvenated, he found Brennan sitting at the dining room table. She had set out bagels with cream cheese, slices of cantaloupe, blueberries, and freshly brewed coffee. He was pleased to see she had remained in her pajamas, for the white satin revealed more than she probably realized. He gave her a grin and a wink and sat down to eat.

"So, what's the plan for today?" he asked. "I have an appointment this afternoon to see if I can be cleared to return to work, but until then I can't work on the case."

"I need to go into the lab. I haven't been there in almost three days," she told him.

"Oh, come on, you can't take the morning off?"

She shook her head at him. "No. You're welcome to come with me, though. I know you can't technically work on the case, but you can see what we've managed to find so far."

He pouted at her but when she didn't cave, he relented.

"Okay, fine. But I am going to need my weapons back, you know," he grinned.

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Walking into the lab with Brennan at his side that morning was slightly awkward. They had never arrived together that early in the morning and he was sure that it would be clear to everyone that they had spent the night together. He wasn't worried about the reactions of the majority of the people there, but he was mildly anxious as to how Cam would take it. Even though she had recently reaffirmed that their relationship had been purely recreational, he couldn't help fidgeting as they walked in.

The reality was that no one commented on his arrival with Brennan. The more pressing matter on the squints' minds, which he should have realized, was the incident on the Trail. Both Angela and Cam inquired as to his health, their concern written plainly across their features. Hodgins merely laughed, making lame jokes about vomiting on a girl not being the way to get on her good side. They all stood on the platform, surrounded by human remains and cold metal instruments.

"So why aren't you at work, Booth? Don't you have catching up to do?" Angela asked.

"He can't work yet," Brennan said dismissively. "Not so soon after being exposed to a psychotropic agent."

"Bones, I'm fine," Booth grumbled.

"You're just going to hang out here all day?" Cam questioned, eyebrows raised.

Booth shrugged and nodded.

"Dude, just so you know, I charge $15 an hour for babysitting," Hodgins commented, smirking.

"Don't rile him," Brennan frowned.

Booth crossed his arms over his chest. "I am not a child, guys! Geez."

"You are sulking, though, Agent Booth," Zack pointed out.

Shooting the young doctor a glare, Booth struggled to keep from snapping at him. Cam seemed to sense his mood and changed the subject.

"Okay, people. What are everyone's plans for today?

"I need to work on identifying the last victim," Brennan said.

"I already confirmed that it was _Atropa belladonna_ that Booth was poisoned with. I'll check the fleshier victims for traces of it as well," Hodgins said.

"Is Belladonna hard to find?" Angela asked.

Hodgins shrugged. "Not really. You can grow it in your yard, or you can buy it in herbalist shops. I'm sure you can order it online, too."

"Where are the contents of the suspect's pack?" Booth asked.

Zack spoke up. "They're in my office."

"Alright, kid, let's go."

The team scattered, Cam and Angela heading to their respective offices, while Brennan moved off to examine a set of bones and Hodgins prepared to collect samples from two other bodies. Booth trailed Zack into his office where the contents of the pack were laid out on a table. Zack began working on some obscure project while Booth rummaged through the assortment of camping gear. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary, everything there was what you would expect in a hiker's backpack. His choice of reading material seemed a little odd, but beyond that, Booth couldn't see anything that might lead them to identify the suspect. It was fairly risky for a hiker not to carry a license or any other form of identification, although Booth supposed he may have had it on him rather than in his pack. Sighing in frustration, Booth looked around Zack's office.

Spying Zack's MP3 player sitting on his desk, Booth picked it up. He glanced at Zack, who was still immersed in whatever he was doing, then slipped the ear pieces on. Scanning through Zack's playlist, Booth smirked and hit 'play.' He sat in a chair and put his feet up on Zack's desk, tapping his feet in rhythm with the music. When Booth started to hum along, Zack looked up at him.

"Agent Booth, what are you doing?"

"The Shins aren't really my taste, but I'm still impressed you like them," Booth commented.

Zack frowned at him. "My brother downloaded those songs for me. He said that I needed to modernize my musical preferences. He also said it might make me appear to be 'almost normal.'"

Pursing his lips, Booth turned off the music, removed the ear pieces, and set the player back down on the desk. Zack's way of stating uncomfortable truths was one of the main reasons Booth didn't really like spending time around him. He rose and started to move toward the door.

"Hey, thanks for letting me, uh, listen to your music." Booth picked up the book from the killer's gear and indicated the rest of the pile with a nod. "And let me know if you find anything, you know, interesting."

----------------

Booth stretched out on the couch in Brennan's office, his shoes on the floor and his feet up on the arm of the couch. It wasn't the most comfortable position, but he could only sit upright for so long before needing to change positions. He had been at the lab all morning and it was finally nearing lunchtime. The book he had been reading for the last hour was actually more interesting than he had suspected. Brennan strode into her office, removing her lab coat as she did. She glanced at Booth and the book in his hand before sitting down in her chair.

"What's that you're reading?" she asked as she clicked with the mouse and tapped out a few keystrokes on the keyboard.

Booth turned the book over to glance at the cover. "It's called _Modern Vampyrism and Its Roots_."

"Really? You don't seem the blood-drinking type."

"Yeah, I know. It was in with the suspect's gear," he told her.

Brennan hummed in response, focusing on her computer.

With a groan, Booth dropped the book onto the coffee table and sat up. "Hey, can we go get lunch or something? I'm going out of my mind with boredom." He picked up his shoes and slipped them on.

"You go ahead, I have work to do."

"Come on, Bones, a half hour break isn't going to kill you."

"I certainly hope not," she said absentmindedly.

Booth considered falling to his knees and groveling, but decided on a different tactic. He crossed the room and stood behind her chair, then leaned forward, putting his mouth next to her ear.

He blew gently on her ear, then whispered, "Wouldn't you like some sweet, succulent pie?"

Brennan chuckled and turned, giving him a brief kiss on the lips. "How can I say no to you when you whisper in my ear like that?"

He grinned and winked at her. "You're not supposed to say no."

--------------

With a half an hour to kill before he needed to leave for his appointment to get cleared for work, Booth wandered aimlessly through the lab. He glanced in passing at the various technicians working at over-sized microscopes and before long, found himself at Hodgins' work station. The entomologist was looking at a jumble of numbers on his computer monitor.

"Hey, man," Hodgins said as he noticed Booth approach.

Booth nodded in greeting. "What's that?"

"Oh, these are the results from the testing we did on your vomit, it shows _Atropa belladonna_. See?"

Booth nodded, though he didn't really see. He'd learned long ago to just take the squints' word for it. Hodgins clicked the mouse and another set of numbers appeared on the screen.

"This is what we got from the vial in the killer's pack. Definitely _Atropa belladonna_." Hodgins clicked again. "And here are Lessard's results. More _Atropa belladonna_." Another click, and more numbers. "And Chouinard's, there were traces in her as well."

"So the guy who drugged me was definitely the killer?"

Hodgins nodded. "It would be extremely improbable that there would be two guys in the same stretch of woods drugging hikers with the same toxin."

Booth hummed quietly.

"Hey, you okay, man?" Hodgins asked.

"Huh? Oh, yeah." Booth paused. "It's just kind of weird, you know?" He didn't like being included with the victims.

Hodgins nodded. "Yeah, definitely. Men almost never use poisons to incapacitate their victims. Women use poisons much more frequently to incapacitate or kill, even to commit suicide. Across the world, women are much more likely than men to ingest poisons. A guy's more likely to take a gun to his head. Did you know that 80 of firearms suicides are white men?"

Booth shook his head slowly. "Um, no. Thanks for that info, though, really."

"Sure, no problem." Hodgins smiled and returned his attention to the monitor in front of him.

Rolling his eyes, Booth turned and headed back toward the platform where Brennan was bent over a set of remains. He scanned himself in and bounded up the steps. She glanced up at him and smiled before looking back down at the bones in front of her. Moving beside her, he placed his hand on her back.

"I'm going to go now, I've gotta get out of this place," he told her.

Brennan straightened and looked at him curiously. "You don't like it here?"

"No, I do," he said hastily. "It's just, you know, it's been a long morning."

She nodded at him, then seemed to become distinctly uncomfortable. She glanced around the lab.. Booth raised his eyebrows at her when her gaze refocused on him. Blushing sheepishly, she leaned toward him and brushed her lips across his.

"See you soon?"

He grinned foolishly at her and nodded. "Yeah, definitely."

--------------

Booth wasn't able to return to the lab until much later than he had anticipated. He'd had to wait an obscene amount of time to see a doctor, and then the clearance had involved a much more thorough exam than he had been expecting. His mood was sour as he walked through the doors to the lab. All he wanted to do now was go home and spend the evening relaxing, preferably with Temperance. He strode into her office, prepared to call out a witty greeting, and was disappointed to see that the room was empty. He hadn't seen her on the platform, either, and was a bit flummoxed as to where she was. Shuffling the papers on her desk, he looked to see if she'd left him a note, but there was nothing. He noticed the vampyrism book sitting on the table and picked it up, figuring he could put it back with the other gear while he was looking for Brennan. As he headed down the hallway, Angela stepped out of her office, nearly bumping into him

"Oh, hey, Booth. Sorry," she smiled.

He returned the smile. "Not a problem. Seen Bones?"

She shook her head, then indicated the book in Booth's hands. "What's that?"

"It was in with the suspect's gear," he said, showing her the book.

She took it from him and studied the cover, then flipped it over to read the back.

"'Ceridwen's Closet'?" she asked.

"Bless you."

Angela rolled her eyes at him. "No, here on the price tag, it says 'Ceridwen's Closet.'"

"Okay, and?"

"Isn't that the New Age-y store downtown?"

Booth shrugged. "No idea, doesn't sound like my type of place."

"Right, well, the point is, it's got a whole wall full of little bags of Eye of Newt and stuff like that."

"Great, Angela," he said and held out his hand for the book.

She placed the book back in his hand and he nodded his thanks. After he had turned and continued on his way down the hallway, she called out after him, "Oh, Booth? Hodgins said that you can get Belladonna in herbalist shops. Might wanna check that out."

Booth stopped and groaned, looking down at the book in his hands. He turned to face Angela and, holding out his hands in a gesture of acquiescence, gave her his most winning smile.

"You're the best, Angela. Thanks."

Chuckling, Angela rolled her eyes at him in mock exasperation. "Check the mezzanine, she might be up there."

Booth found Brennan up on the mezzanine as Angela had suggested. She was sitting with Hodgins and Cam, sipping a glass of water while the others drank coffees. They all looked up at him expectantly. He was distinctly aware of Brennan and Cam sitting next to each other, each waiting for him to speak. While he knew they were just waiting to hear how his appointment had gone, he almost felt torn between the two women. It wasn't that he held any romantic feelings for Cam any longer, but she had the look in her eyes that belied a deeper perception of the interpersonal relationships among him and the other squints. He would feel responsible if his budding romance with Temperance caused Cam any grief, though he hoped she would understand. After all, right from the start, he had told Cam how he felt about his partner, though he hadn't directly implied attraction. He knew Cam, she was smart and seemed to have gotten the idea. Their fling had been laced with an awareness of Booth's devotion to Temperance and what that meant for their long-term prospects.

Brennan spoke first. "Well?"

A lazy grin spread across Booth's lips. "I'm back on the job."

Brennan's quiet smile matched the relief in her eyes.

"Thank god, man. No offense," Hodgins said as he rose and slapped Booth on the back. "Now maybe you can stop hovering over us all."

Booth ignored the dig and turned to Brennan. "So, I'm going to go. I'll probably just go home, I'm really tired." He tried to discreetly give her a pointed look, but wasn't sure if it came off right.

"Oh, sure," she nodded and stood. She glanced at Cam, then back to Booth. "I'll just, you know, your stuff is in my office."

"Right, it is." He knew he sounded like a moron—Cam's smirk was proof.

"Okay. Yeah." Again Brennan glanced toward Cam, then out over the lab. "Should we go then?"

Trying to suppress a grin, he nodded at Brennan and his hand fell to the small of her back, guiding her toward the stairs.

In her office, Brennan shut the door behind her and groaned.

"I know we didn't discuss whether we should keep our relationship private, but I don't think it would work. We both acted like idiots up there," Brennan sighed as she gathered her belongings.

Booth chuckled. "Angela knows anyway, right?" At her nod, he added, "Then Hodgins probably knows, too. And Cam's perceptive enough to see what's going on."

"Will she be upset?"

"No, I don't think so. Even when we were, you know, she seemed to understand..." he motioned between the two of them, trying to express in hand gestures what they still had not spoken of.

She nodded. "There probably isn't a need for us to leave separately or anything then, is there?"

"No, probably not," he winked at her.

----------------

As Booth drove to Brennan's apartment, he wondered at the assumption they had both made that they'd be spending at least the evening together, and that it would be at her place. It just seemed natural and easy between them. Since his appointment, he had tried not to let himself imagine what tonight would be like, whether he would feel up for any recreational activities, so to speak. Or more importantly, whether she would be interested. Thankfully, she hadn't seemed too put off by his erratic and often disgusting behavior on the Trail. He knew that she wasn't inhibited when it came to talking about sex, and he was intensely curious as to how that would translate when they were in bed.

Dinner was fairly subdued, though he felt his tension increase almost by the minute. He couldn't help watching her mouth as she brought bites of food to her lips, and each moan of enjoyment he imagined was for him and not for her meal. Halfway through dinner she shrugged out the long-sleeve shirt she wore over a tank top and Booth could hardly keep his eyes off the smooth, pale skin of her shoulders and toned arms. She had smiled apologetically at him as she removed the shirt, but he could have sworn he saw a glint in her eye that suggested showing some skin was a hint of hers. Booth set down his fork and gazed at her.

Arching her eyebrows at him, she set down her fork as well and wiped her mouth with her napkin. "So, how are you feeling, Booth?"

"Pretty damn good, Bones," he grinned at her.

She nodded, a seductive smile gracing her lips. "That's good."

"Well, there is one thing I've been wanting to do all night, though," he said

"And what's that?" she asked, her voice quiet yet filled with anticipation.

Booth stood and crossed to her side of the table, took her hands in his, and pulled her to her feet. He reached out and brushed her cheek with his palm, sliding his hand around to the back of her head, winding his fingers through her hair. He tilted her head back slightly and brought his lips to hers. She pressed her body to his as he slipped his tongue past her lips, tasting the warmth and sweetness of her. His whole being was filled with an aching need for her. He brought his hands back to her face and reluctantly broke the kiss.

She smiled at him, her face flushed and eyes sparkling. Her hands came up to rest on his forearms and she pulled his hands down from her face. She leaned over the table and blew out the candles, then switched off the lights in the kitchen. Intertwining her fingers with his, she lightly brushed her lips across his knuckles then led him to her bedroom.

-------------

Oh no! Not a fade-to-black! Don't worry, you can read the rest of it on my LiveJournal. My username is SkylaraK, just like here. It's not for children, so keep that in mind. If ya do read it, please let me know what you think.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: Anybody who would like to give me enough money so I can buy Bones, let me know.

I spent several days in Old Town Alexandria earlier this year, so the descriptions of the downtown area are fairly accurate. However, for the residential area I describe, I'm totally making stuff up here. Sorry if it's way off.

Only another chapter or two left to go on this story.

As always, thanks to the ever helpful FauxMaven for beta'ing this chapter.

----------------

Lying on her side in bed, Brennan watched the rise and fall of Booth's chest. The early morning light filtering through the ivory curtains lent a pale yellow sheen to his skin. Her gaze followed the ridges of his _rectus abdominis_ muscles and his_ linea alba_. She knew the biological mechanisms that caused her arousal at seeing his clearly fit and toned body, but still marveled at the strength of those feelings. She reached out and danced her fingertips along his sinewy arm, the name of each muscle involuntarily popping into her head as she touched him.

When she thought of the intimacy they had shared the night before her mind shied away from using the clinical terms for sex that she was used to. With all of her previous boyfriends, Sully included, she hadn't found any problem with referring to their activities as just sex. Things were different with Booth. His technical skill was considerable, but he also left her feeling emotionally satisfied, something she hadn't realized she had been missing with previous lovers. She abhorred the idea of using the word lovemaking, whether to herself or to Booth; lovemaking conjured up imaged of trashy romance novels and lonely women. But try as she might, she couldn't think of a word that more accurately described what they had shared.

Brennan delicately laid her arm across his chest, her fingers tracing his deltoid and trapezius muscles, dipping into the hollow of his clavicle. He groaned in what she thought was pleasure, but she was startled when he abruptly rolled away from her. She stared at his back, struggling to dismiss the hurt rising within her. Booth flopped onto his back with a huff and then another moan. Moving to touch his chest once again, to rouse him, she hesitated when his leg kicked out across the bed. Brennan frowned. When he started muttering and flung an arm up to cover his face, she grasped his forearm and shook him lightly.

"Booth. Wake up," she urged.

Suddenly sitting upright in bed, he shoved the sheet off his legs, almost frantic in his thrashing. She touched his arm again and he looked at her, confusion roiling in his eyes. He blinked once, twice, then a flush crept up his neck. He turned away from her, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, hunching his back. Staring at his muscular back and tensed shoulders, she hesitated.

"Sorry," he whispered.

After a beat, she asked, "Were you dreaming?"

He shrugged his shoulders. She gently touched her fingertips to his back, gradually pressing her palms to his skin. Sliding her hands up along his spine, then along each of his shoulders and back down his sides to begin again at the small of his back, she rubbed him, trying to soothe him as best she could.

After a moment, he shifted on the bed so he was closer to facing her. He gave her a sheepish, apologetic look. "Sorry," he said again.

"Don't be sorry," she chastised him. "Between the lingering effects of the psychotropic drug and the emotional and mental stress of what you went through, it's not surprising that you'd have bad dreams."

He shrugged his shoulders again, his cheeks still tinged with pink. Tugging on his arm, Brennan pulled him back down into bed and he drew her into his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder and she pressed her lips to the firm skin of his neck. They lay still, savoring the closeness they had denied themselves for so long, but also contemplating the difficulties this case was causing

"I'm sorry for making things harder for us," he mumbled.

"Booth, for the last time, you didn't ask to get poisoned," she sighed.

"No, I meant for us, uh, personally. You said in the hospital that you thought I was choosing to make things hard, and you're probably right. Now that you're here," he tightened his arms around her, "I can't believe I was such an idiot about, you know, lines you can't cross and people you can't just sleep with."

Smiling into his shoulder, she gave him a squeeze around his middle. She didn't know whether it was Angela or Dr. Wyatt or this craziness in the woods, but for whatever made him change his mind and take a chance, she was grateful.

"And just so you know, I am really very sorry for throwing up on you."

She laughed. They settled into a more comfortable silence, Brennan focusing on the way his hand rubbed circles on her lower back while his other hand twirled strands of her hair. When she felt him shift next to her, she spoke.

"What are our plans for today?" she asked.

"You mean, apart from staying in bed and doing terribly naughty things to you all day?" His chuckle rumbled from within his chest.

"Oh, so did you solve the case while I was sleeping?"

"Sure did. The guy's in jail already, the trial was at 3am, it's too bad you missed it."

Brennan laughed and prodded him in the side.

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "We've got to check out that store downtown where the suspect bought that book. Wanna come along?"

"Sure. You might have to let go of me so I can shower and get dressed, though."

Booth pulled back from her, giving her an admiring once-over. "I think you look great as is."

Giving him a quick smooch, she told him, "Just because you like me naked doesn't mean everyone else will."

"I don't know, Bones, you've got a pretty good body," he grinned. "But you bring up a good point, I don't think I want other guys seeing you naked."

Brennan rolled her eyes at him. "You're so possessive."

He nodded vigorously then kissed her nose. "Mine," he said, then brushed his lips across hers. "Mine," he repeated. He bent his head and left a trail of kisses along her jaw and down her neck, to the tops of her breasts, murmuring "Mine" as he went. He flicked his tongue across her nipple, then took it into his mouth, sucking firmly. When he let go, he looked up at her, and with a lopsided grin, said, "Most definitely mine."

Shaking her head at him with a mock frown, she told him, "You're incorrigible."

"Yeah, I know." Booth sat up abruptly. "So, care to join me in the shower?"

"I don't know, aren't we trying to get out of here?"

Booth waggled a finger at her. "Just 'cause you have a dirty mind, doesn't mean that the shower _has_ to take longer if we're both in it."

She smirked. "Alright, but if you try anything, I'm going to have to kick you out."

"Hey, you're joining me, if anyone's getting kicked out, it's you," he laughed as they both got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom.

"Yeah, but it's my shower," she explained.

"Ha! Look who's possessive now," he said, smacking her lightly on the ass.

----------------

Booth pulled his SUV to the curb in front of a long row of shops a little later than they had been planning. Brennan peered out her window at the flowery sign above the storefront bearing the name "Ceridwen's Closet." Booth got out of the car and walked around to her side to open the door for her. Normally she would have gotten out before he had the chance, but she decided to acquiesce to his chivalry.

"Thank you," she murmured, and he smiled broadly in return.

Stepping onto the curb, she looked in the windows of the shop. The displays held a wide assortment of wares, from books and CDs to staffs and crystals. Her gaze fell on a glazed stoneware chalice. It had been left its natural rusty brown color, though a Celtic cross had been etched into the cup. She nudged Booth and pointed to the chalice.

"That looks just like the one we found in the storage space," he muttered.

She nodded in reply and they entered the shop. The scent of sandalwood washed over her as she scanned the inside of the store. Along the front wall were several bookcases overflowing with a wide range of books. To her right were long tables filled with displays of semi-precious stones, crystals, and packets of incense. The back of the store was set up with makeshift dressing rooms and racks of medieval-styled clothing, which apparently were only made in velvet or brocade fabrics. The wall to her left held an enormous pegboard and hundreds of little bags of dried herbs.

Booth walked up to the glass counter filling the middle of the shop and smiled politely at the woman standing at the cash register. Her long, honey blond hair was braided into a single plait and her face was open and friendly. Booth pulled out his badge and laid it on the counter.

"Good morning, ma'am. I'm Special Agent Seeley Booth, and this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan." He indicated her with a nod of his head. "Could we speak with the manager, please?"

A flash of alarm passed over the woman's face. "This is my shop, I'm the owner. What can I do for you?"

"We're investigating a death, Miss...?" he trailed off, waiting for her to fill in her name.

"Alicia Balch. Mrs." she added.

Booth nodded at her and smiled. "Mrs. Balch. Do you sell any books on vampyrism?"

"Um, sure. Well, I don't know if any are in stock right at the moment, but we do carry at least one or two titles."

From his jacket, Booth pulled out a photo of the book from the suspect's pack. "Is this one of the books?"

The woman nodded. "Yes, that's one of them."

"What can you tell us about the chalice in the window display?" Brennan questioned.

"The one with the Celtic cross?" Seeing Brennan's nod, the woman continued, "A local artisan makes those for us. They all have varying designs, some with crosses, others with goddess imagery."

Booth nodded to Brennan and she reached into her bag, taking out Angela's enhanced version of the suspect's false driver's license. She set it on the counter, facing the shop owner.

"Have you ever seen this man before?" he asked casually, though his gaze was attentively focused on the woman's face.

Mrs. Balch picked up the photograph, bringing it closer for a better look. She inspected the man's face, frowning. Abruptly, she set the picture back down on the counter.

"No, he doesn't look familiar."

Booth raised his eyebrows at the woman. "Are you sure? We found a book in his possession, with a price tag from this store on it."

The woman shook her head. "You know, I'm not here all the time, he could have come in while one of my employees was here."

"I'll need to speak with your other employees then."

Brennan moved off to look through the bags of dried herbs while Booth got the names and addresses of the other store employees. The herbs were arranged alphabetically and it didn't take her long to find several bags of _Atropa belladonna_. She pulled one off the rack and approached the cash register. Booth flipped close his notebook and signaled to her that they were ready to go. Setting the bag on the counter, she turned to the store owner.

"I'd like to buy this, please."

----------------

Back in the car, Booth drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. His brow was creased in what she recognized as the expression he made when things didn't quite add up.

"I don't believe her," he said.

"Mrs. Balch? What don't you believe?"

"That she didn't recognize the suspect." He turned in his seat to face her. "She's not great at acting."

Brennan pursed her lips. She hadn't noticed anything suspicious in the woman's behavior. Clearly she would take Booth's word for it, but she was dismayed at yet another example of her not having anything close to his level of intuition or ability to read people.

"What do you want to do?" she asked.

Flipping open his cell phone, Booth dialed a phone number and while it rang, winked at Brennan. After a moment, he spoke into the phone. "Hey, it's Booth. Listen, I'm going to need info on an Alicia Balch who owns a store called "Ceridwen's Closet" here in D.C. I'll take the home address now." He paused, then, "Okay. Okay, yeah. No, that's fine."

As he disconnected the call, he glanced over at Brennan. "We're heading out to Alexandria, the address is near Old Town."

"Do you think it's her husband?"

He shrugged, concentrating on pulling the SUV out into traffic. She contemplated the possibilities for a moment, then said, "If it's her husband, she's going to warn him."

With a nod, Booth turned on the siren and slowly the cars in front of them parted. Between the siren and the fact that the roads were a little clearer on Sunday mornings, they made fairly good time. As they passed the Masonic Temple, Brennan perked up. Despite the throngs of tourists, she always liked driving through the historic district, especially at night when the trees were lit up with tiny white lights. She gazed out the window, noting the names of shops and the architectural details of the buildings. Booth turned off his siren when he made a right from King Street onto South Fairfax Street.

Turning to him, she asked, "Does she live on this street?"

"Yeah. Just up here, I think."

They passed from the quaint, expensive housing into the slightly more rundown area nearer to the water. Booth squinted at the houses as he drove slowly along the street, then pulled over in front of a small, tidy-looking house. They glanced at each other before getting out of the car and Brennan forced what she hoped was a reassuring smile. She felt a little more anxious than normal and wondered if the feeling was a budding sense of intuition or if she was imagining things.

They approached the front door cautiously. Brennan glanced around the area several times while Booth rang the bell. After a time, it became obvious that nobody was going to answer. Leaning over the porch railing, she tried peering through the bay window to see into the living room, but the glare from the sun on the glass made it impossible. From the rear of the house came the jarring sound of metal and wood falling to the ground. Booth motioned for Brennan to go around the left side of the house while he took the right side, where the garage was located.

She moved quietly across the grass, pausing to squint through each of the windows she passed. A dog began barking somewhere, then another joined in, but thankfully there were no gunshots or shouting from Booth's side of the house. The backyard of the house was fenced in with a weathered, six-foot stockade fence. There was no gate and the yard seemed to be fully enclosed. Sighing inwardly, Brennan reached for the top of the fence and hoisted herself up, her feet scrabbling at the fence, struggling to bring herself over the top. Rough hands grasped her waist, pulling her down, and Brennan let out a shout, flailing her feet in an attempt to kick her assailant. Her heel connected and she heard a surprised exhalation of breath from behind her. She dropped to the ground, pivoting while bringing her hands up to defend herself. The sight of Booth in front of her, clutching his stomach, was definitely not what she was expecting.

"Dammit, Bones," he grunted.

"Well, that's what you get for attacking me. Are you okay?"

Booth nodded, though his eyes were still narrowed in pain.

"Why did you do that?" she asked.

Staring at her incredulously, he pointed to the sign on the fence. The sign was in the shape of a sheriff's badge and read, "Guard Dog on Duty." Brennan cringed. How had she missed that?

"What the hell? Didn't you hear the damn dogs? There are, like, four giant dogs, I don't know if they're Rottweilers or pit bulls or what, I didn't get a good enough look. Geez, " he panted, rubbing his abdomen.

The dogs were quite loud and she surmised that they were probably on the other side of the fence now. She wanted to protest that they hadn't been so close when they first started barking, but she knew better than to argue. Her face flushed in embarrassment.

"Did you see anyone?"

Booth shook his head. "If there was someone here, I'm sure the dogs gave him enough warning."

They walked around toward the front of the house, both coming to a sudden halt when the driveway came into view. A man was frantically trying to unlock a car door, his keys jangling in his fumbling hands as he muttered curses under his breath. Even though his back was turned to them, Brennan recognized him immediately.

With only a split second's hesitation, Booth drew his gun and as he brought it to bear, calmly instructing, "FBI. Stop right there and turn around."

The man tossed a hurried glance over his shoulder, his glasses glinting in the midday sun, and he bolted. In the second before Booth pursued, Brennan noticed a flash of recognition in his eyes as his expression hardened. They raced toward the suspect and arrived at the driveway just in time to see him fling open the gate to his backyard. He stumbled past the dogs who were for the moment jumping to greet him, but all too soon the dogs noticed Booth and Brennan in the driveway and four brown and black blurs pelted toward them. He grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the neighbor's yard where he yanked opened another gate and thrust her through, pulling it shut just in time. The gate bucked in Booth's hands as the dogs threw themselves at it, barking and yowling furiously. Brennan ran toward the back fence where another gate led into an alley, jumping here and there to see if she could spot the suspect over the fence that separated the two yards. After engaging the flimsy lock on the front gate, Booth ran after her, reaching her just as she prepared to fling open the back gate. He shot her a warning look.

"FBI first," he muttered.

He eased the gate open, cautiously glancing in both directions down the alley. In a flash he was gone, running full tilt and as Brennan plunged into the alley, she saw their quarry tugging at a gate several houses down. He was through only moments before Booth reached the opening in the fence and disappeared into the yard after him. As she ran, she heard a sickening 'thwack' and a grunt. Finally she turned the corner through the gate, finding their suspect on the ground, a thick board lying by his feet. His glasses rested crookedly on the bridge of his nose and his expansive chest heaved. Booth stood over him, looking slightly dazed, his arm pulled back, ready, waiting. When the man struggled to his feet, Booth launched his fist at the man's face, connecting solidly with his cheekbone. The man's head jerked to the side as he cried out, stumbling to his knees.

"Booth," she said simply.

He turned to look at her, the haziness slowly leaving his eyes. He nodded, then returned his attention to the suspect before him. Once the man was in handcuffs and back on his feet, Booth prodded him down the alley, through the stranger's yard, and out to their vehicle where they waited for a car to arrive to transport the suspect. Brennan eyed the redness and swelling blooming on the side of Booth's face, worrying about fractures but saying nothing until the suspect had been taken away. Finally alone and in Booth's SUV, he let her inspect his newest injury.

"What happened?"

"He hit me with that damn board," he groused.

She felt his cheek lightly, trying not to cause him any more pain. "You could have a fracture or a concussion. You definitely looked dazed back there. Let's go to the hospital."

Booth shook his head. "I'm fine. Nothing a bottle of ibuprofen won't help."

"Well, at least let me drive then."

For a moment she thought he was going to protest, but then he wordlessly got out of the car. She met him at the front of the car and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. He rested his chin on her shoulder briefly, then pulled back and placed a lingering kiss on her lips. With a smile, she nudged him to the passenger side of the truck.

Brennan turned the ignition and pulled way from the curb, heading back toward the city. She glanced over at Booth, slouched in his seat, staring absentmindedly out the window. She reached over and brushed his knee with her hand, trailing her fingers upward until her hand rested on his thigh. He placed his hand on hers and when she looked his way again, she saw a faint smile tugging at his lips.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: My birthday's coming up, do you know what I'm asking for?

There's just one more chapter after this, and it should be up within a few days. So sorry about the delay on this chapter, by the way.. it's been crazy here with family visiting and the 4th and all.

Thanks, of course, to FauxMaven, for her tireless effort on this story.

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The room was dark and cool, and the quiet helped ease the headache that began during the earlier pursuit. Brennan stood alone in the center of the room, her arms across her chest. In the next room, Booth leaned back in his chair, one leg hooked over the other, radiating a sense of casual power and control. She knew it was an act, though--from the way he had talked in the car, Booth wanted nothing more than to take out his anger on the man sitting across from him. Unfortunately, that wouldn't get them the answers they needed.

Brennan shifted her gaze to the object of Booth's ire. He was physically larger than Booth, though his posture and body language made him seem smaller and weakerHis glasses kept sliding down his nose and every time he pushed them into place, she could see Booth's jaw clench in irritation. They knew his name was Daniel Balch and that he hadmarried Alicia Balch, the owner of Ceridwen's Closet, fourteen months previously. They also knew that in June of 2005, he wentbackpacking with his then girlfriend, a young woman named Stephanie Turner. According to his story, his girlfriend had slipped on the bank of a rain-swollen river and was swept downstream. Her body was never found and an investigation resulted in her death being ruled accidental. Brennan had sent this information to her colleagues on the suspicion that their still unidentified victim might be this Stephanie Turner.

Despite his fidgeting, their suspect still refused to talk. She watched Booth stand and lean forward, his palms on the table, as he questioned the man. While she was interested in the interrogation, Brennan couldn't help thinking of how his biceps and triceps must be standing out as his arms bore his weight. She resented the suit jacket that impeded her view.

More and more lately, she had been distracted by her attraction to Booth and she was surprised that her occasional inability to focus hadn't eased once she had brought him into her bed. Granted, it had been less than a day since they had slept together, but if the last few hours were proof, her little daydreams were only more vivid now that she'd had a taste of him.

Booth sat back down and rested his forearms on his thighs, maintaining his dominant body language. She could tell he was getting impatient with the suspect's refusal to answer his questions. The suspect's fingerprints had matched prints found in the storage space and on the camping gear they had brought back from the Trail, which confirmed their assertion that this man was the one who accosted them in the woods. They had taken a sample of his DNA to match what little DNA evidence they had found on the victims, but the results wouldn't be in for several days at least. Booth's task now was to find his motive and he didn't seem to be having much luck.

Finding her own impatience growing, Brennan stretched her legs, slowly pacing the length of the window into the interrogation room. She heard Booth tell Balch that he'd be back. She turned to watch her partner gather the photos he had shown Balch, slip them into a file folder, and leave the room. A moment later, he opened the door to the observation room. She was pleased to see the easy smile that spread across his face at seeing her and it seemed that a good deal of the tension in his shoulders slipped away. He held out his hand, motioning for her to follow him out into the hallway. She slipped her hand into his as he led her into another observation room a few doors down. Closing the door behind them, Booth brought the room into near darkness. Through the window, Brennan saw Alicia Balch sitting uncomfortably at a table, her brow creased as she fiddled with the rings on her fingers.

"I'll give our suspect some time to sweat while I talk to his wife," Booth told her, inclining his head briefly towards the woman in the next room.

Brennan nodded. "It's frustrating when they don't cooperate."

"Well, not everyone makes a full confession, Bones," he grinned. "They're searching his house now, hopefully they'll find something useful."

"Do you think she knew what he was doing?"

Shrugging, Booth said, "Who knows? Sometimes women try to protect their husbands without even knowing what they've done wrong."

"Alright, well, go find out."

He chuckled. "Want to come in?"

She nodded eagerly and followed him into the interrogation room. Alicia Balch looked up at them anxiously as they entered and Brennan noted Booth's manner change. She was always intrigued by the way he behaved differently according to the situation and how much it seemed to matter. No longer was he the dominating presence he was with Daniel Balch, nor was he the self-assured flirt he was around her. He carefully kept his expression friendly, although she knew him well enough to see the tension in his eyes. His posture indicated he was trying to appear smaller, less imposing. She tried to mimic his movements but when he gave her a strange look, she stopped.

When they sat down across from her, Booth took Angela's photo of Daniel Balch out of the folder he had set down on the table in front of them. He turned the photo to face the woman and slid it across the table to her.

"Let's try this again, Mrs. Balch. Do you recognize this man?" he questioned.

She had the decency to look abashed as she nodded slowly. "That's my husband."

"I don't understand—I thought earlier you said you'd never seen him before. Seems if you're married to the guy, you should be able to identify a photo of him," he commented, almost casually.

"Well," Alicia Balch hesitated. "I guess I kind of…got confused for a minute there."

"Got confused?" Brennan asked.

"Maybe confused isn't the right word," she admitted.

Booth was quiet, watching the woman sitting across from him. Brennan followed his lead and waited.

After a minute, Alicia Balch spoke again, though her gaze remained fixed on the ring she was relentlessly turning on her finger. "Okay, so I panicked. I know it was stupid." She paused. "What's he done?"

"He's suspected in the murders of seven people," Booth said quietly.

She looked up sharply, aghast. "Murder? He murdered seven people? No, that can't be right."

"Not to mention that he assaulted both of us," Brennan added.

Her expression was clearly doubtful. "You must have the wrong man. Dan's not like that—he's a good guy, a good Christian, there's no way he would hurt someone."

"Your husband is Christian?" Booth asked. "I thought you—well, your store..." he trailed off.

Alicia Balch nodded. "I'm not Christian, but my husband is. It's been a source of tension," she confessed. "But he's very devout. He was raised to be God-fearing, which I think is a shame, personally, forcing your fanaticism on your kids, but we don't really talk about that anymore."

"Fanaticism?" Booth queried.

"Yeah, his dad was really strict, from what Dan's told me. Always telling him how he was going to go to Hell for stuff like playing instead of reading his Bible."

Brennan tried to give Booth a significant look, but he avoided her gaze, continuing to question the woman.

"How often does your husband go hiking?"

"Hiking? I don't think he's ever been," she told them, puzzled.

Booth looked at the woman thoughtfully. "Has he been away at all this past week?"

"Yes, but he was away on business. He's a regional sales manager."

"Which days was he gone?"

"Let's see...he left Wednesday morning and came back on Friday. He was supposed to be gone until Saturday, but he was able to come home early." She paused for a moment, looking a little lost, then asked, "Do you really think he killed seven people?"

"All the evidence points to him, Mrs. Balch," Brennan answered her.

Booth rose from his chair, gathering the photo and file folder. Brennan stood as well.

"Thank you, Mrs. Balch. That'll be all for now," Booth said, then led Brennan toward the door with a hand on her back.

With the door closed behind them, he turned to her and said,"Let's get some coffee."

-----------------

As Booth reclined in his chair behind his desk, Brennan studied his face. His skin was bruising surprisingly fast and anxiety flitted through her as she pictured where a fracture might lie underneath his contusion. She watched his lips purse as he took a sip of his coffee and when he glanced her way, she smiled. When a romantic relationship with Booth had only been a possibility, she had worried about whether it would be awkward, trying to be partners and friends while also having intimate knowledge of each other,but she was finding it remarkably comfortable. She supposed she had grown quite accustomed to him during their two-year partnership, and this familiarity helped ease their transition from friends to lovers.

"I don't think the wife knew anything," Booth said abruptly.

"No, I don't either," she agreed. "She'll still be in trouble for lying to you, though, won't she?"

He nodded.

"Where's their lawyer?"

Shrugging, he said, "I think he's coming from Baltimore, he should be here soon. They've both been Mirandized, though, and know they don't have to talk to us if they don't want to."

Minutes passed in comfortable silence as they drank their coffees and enjoyed just having a few moments where they weren't pursuing criminals, or interrogating suspects, or trying to seduce each other. They were interrupted by a knock on the door, and Brennan looked up to see a young and slightly nervous-looking agent hovering in the doorway.

"Agent Booth? They've finished searching Balch's house and they're on their way back with the evidence. Sounds like they found some interesting stuff."

Booth arched an eyebrow at the other man. "Oh?"

The agent shrugged. "I don't know the specifics."

"Okay. We'll be down in a few."

The other agent took that as a dismissal and hurried down the hallway out of view. Booth turned to her and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the ringing of Brennan's cell phone. She fumbled through her bag before pulling the phone out and answering the call.

"Brennan."

"Dr. Brennan, you told me to call you as soon as we had any information regarding Stephanie Turner," Zack said, leaping straight into the conversation without preamble.

"Okay, Zack, what did you find?"

"The unidentified victim's dental records match Stephanie Turner exactly, and two old fractures in her left tibia and left distal radius match childhood injuries listed in her medical records."

"Thanks, Zack, good work." Brennan disconnected the call and dropped her phone into her bag. "Well, we have a match. The Jane Doe is definitely Stephanie Turner," she told Booth.

"Well, I guess that explains why it took so long to make the I.D."

Brennan nodded. "Right. Because she was already declared dead, she wasn't in the missing persons database."

"What say we go check out what they found in Balch's house?" he suggested as he stood, tossing his empty coffee cup in the wastebasket. She nodded and after he smoothed his clothes, he led her out into the hallway, his arm draped across her shoulders.

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They sifted through stacks of notebooks, all crammed into cardboard boxes. The notebooks were all surprisingly similar and rather disturbing. Most of the pages were filled with drawings that matched the mural in the storage space. The blue-inked images had been retraced several times on each of the drawings, conjuring a visual in Brennan's mind of the artist's hand moving obsessively over the page. Here and there a page was filled in with a barely legible scrawl rather a fevered drawing and Brennan had to squint to make some of it out. Most of the writing seemed to be descriptions of the drawings, referring to bleeding trees and the hooded man offering a cup filled with blood. From what she gathered, this scene was either a dream or hallucination, but she couldn't be sure which.

After a quarter of an hour looking through the notebooks in silence, Booth spoke up.

"Here's something different," he said.

Brennan moved beside him to read over his shoulder. It was more writing, but this time he seemed to have been ranting about the devil tempting him with some sort of berries.

"'Berries'? Am I reading that right?" Booth asked.

"I think so."

"Why berries?"

She squinted hard at the page, reading as much as she could of the scrawled babbling. There was something about a trick the Devil played on him, being punished for giving in to temptation, and terrifying visions of Hell. Visions and berries jogged something in her brain and after a moment of thinking, she looked up at Booth, a knowing smile on her lips.

"He's talking about Atropa belladonna , Booth."

"What, the same stuff that I was drugged with?" he frowned.

"Exactly. The berries are quite toxic and can produce the same symptoms you experienced." She pointed to the section where he spoke of horrible visions. "Doesn't that sound like hallucinations?"

Booth nodded. "So he thinks that the Devil, what...makes people eat Belladonna berries?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Although from what he's written, it sounds more like a personal experience."

"What does the Devil have to do with it?"

"Well, some claim that only the Devil can harvest Belladonna, and that anyone who eats the berries, or any part of the plant, I suppose, will be killed by the Devil. Although, obviously you can see the roots of that belief lie in the symptoms of Belladonna poisoning resembling what demonic possession is supposed to be like, and Belladonna poisoning in children is frequently fatal. Also, it was believed that witches used Belladonna to enable them to fly."

Nodding slowly, Booth sighed. "Okay, thanks for the info."

"You did ask," she complained.

"I know, I know. I've got to stop doing that."

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Once again, Brennan waited in the darkened observation room, watching Booth interrogate their suspect. He had started with a few easy questions and now she was waiting for him to mention the notebooks. It was clear from the Balch's writing that he was quite disturbed but she still didn't understand why he had been compelled to murder so many people. As she thought of the long passages in those notebooks describing his terrifying visions of Hell, she wondered how he had been able to hide that from his wife. Doubt wriggled inside her as she watched Booth, worried that she would someday become as blind as Alicia Balch, unable or unwilling to see fault in the man she loved.

Absorbed in her own thoughts, she was only dimly aware of Booth mentioning something about the Devil and belladonna, but Balch's reaction brought her back to the interrogation. He sat forward, his eyes bright, palms down on the table in front of him.

"Can you see him?" Balch asked, his expression more animated than she had seen him even on the Trail.

"Him?" Booth questioned.

Balch gave him a look that Brennan couldn't read. "The Devil. I thought you said you know what he does."

Booth's brow furrowed subtly as he paused. Then he said, "Yes, I know about belladonna."

A look of relief swept across Balch's face. "He did it to you, too, then?"

Making a small noncommittal noise, Booth asked, "How did it happen to you?"

"I was little. Maybe six, I think. My father had always warned me about temptation and the Devil, about the danger of idleness. But one day the Devil made me go out and play, he must have, because I always listened to my father. I was in the woods behind the house and it was nearly lunchtime, and I was so hungry."

She watched Booth nod at the suspect and she had a feeling that she knew where this story was going.

"Well, there were these little berries, and like I said, I was so hungry. I ate a few and would have had more, but I heard my mother calling me. She sounded so worried, warning that my father was coming home, that it wasn't safe. I started feeling sick. My mother thought I had a bug, but when my father got home, it had gotten much worse…" Balch paused, his eyes glassy. "My father recognized what it was, though. I was thrashing and yelling, and the things I saw…" Again he hesitated, but when he spoke again, his voice was much stronger.

"The Devil had possessed me. It was horrible. It was days before I recovered. My father was really angry. He…taught me to better resist the Devil's temptation after that."

"Taught you?" Booth asked.

"My father wasn't afraid to punish us. He said it made the lessons stick better."

Booth nodded tightly. "So what happened after that?"

"Well, he reminded me of my lesson often. I was always careful to obey after that, but at night, I still had these terrible visions. You know what I mean, right?"

Again, Booth nodded. "The trees, and the hooded man."

"And the blood. Always the blood. It tastes…" Balch grimaced, then was silent for a minute. When he spoke again, it was in a whisper. "The Devil never really left me."


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: My life's pretty good, but it'd be better if I owned Bones. Or even just Booth. I don't really have a need for the rest of them.. Booth would be plenty for me.

Well, here it is, the last chapter of Drink Deeply. It's more of just an epilogue. I've been holding onto it for a few days 'cause I'm not too happy with it, but I'm eager to move on to other stories. Anyway.. here it is.

Thanks to everyone who pointed out the formatting error.. it looked good to me when I posted it, but I guess something got lost in the process. Hopefully this'll work better.

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Standing outside Brennan's apartment, Booth tugged at the hem of his black button-down shirt with one hand, smoothing the front. He glanced at the gift he had picked up at the florist's and began feeling a little stupid for not just getting roses. But it had seemed like a good idea at the time, and it was too late to change his mind. He ran his fingers through his hair one last time, then knocked on the door. Tapping his foot anxiously, he waited for her to answer. When she finally opened the door, he nearly did a double-take.

Booth rarely saw Brennan dressed up; aside from that trip to Vegas and Angela's wedding, there had only been one or two mandatory events at the Jeffersonian when he'd seen her wearing anything that could be considered formal. But as she stood in front of him now, he thought that she had never looked more appealing—whether this was because he had a very good idea now of what it would be like to remove the sapphire blue, empire-waisted dress that clung to her bodyor what it would be like to pull the pins from her hair and see it cascade over her shoulders, he wasn't sure.

She was smiling shyly at him, and as she moved forward to take his hand and lead him into her apartment, his eyes were drawn down to her shapely legs as the hem of her skirt swirled about her knees. As the door closed behind him, Brennan pulled him into an embrace, sliding her arms around his neck, and kissing him tenderly in greeting. He wrapped his free arm around her waist while still awkwardly holding his gift in his other hand.

After thoroughly welcoming him with her lips, she pulled back. "Hello, Booth," she grinned.

Tilting his head to the side in acknowledgment, he winked at her. "Hey, Bones."

As they stepped apart, she indicated the ceramic planter he was holding. "What's that?" she asked.

"Oh, it's for you," he said, feeling himself flush. "I was at the florist, and I was going to get you roses, you know, but I know you've said that cut flowers are impractical, and then I saw this, and, well, I thought you could use it more." He was babbling and he felt his face grow warmer. He needed to stop talking. "They're fresh herbs. Since you've been getting interested in, you know, cooking," he finished lamely.

Her cheeks glowed a delicate shade of pink and she smiled broadly. "That's so thoughtful of you, Booth. Thanks."

He nodded, and said gruffly, "Sure. You're welcome."

She slipped her hand into his and led him further into the apartment, then took the planter of herbs from him.

"I'll put it on the balcony, then I just need to get my shoes on," she told him.

He watched her walk down the hallway toward her bedroom, her bare feet making soft padding sounds as she moved. He leaned to the side as she turned into her bedroom, trying to keep her in view. On impulse, he followed her.

When he entered her room, she was sitting on the edge of her bed, a pair of black heels in her hands. He crossed the room quickly, taking the shoes from her before she could put them on. She quirked her eyebrows at him as he knelt before her and placed one hand behind her slender ankle, pulling her foot into his lap. His hands skimmed over the smooth skin of her leg, cupping her calf, then up to her knee, where he rubbed his thumbs across the barely rougher skin there.

He glanced up at her briefly and smiled when he saw her eyes were closed, an expression of relaxation on her face. Moving his hands higher, he danced his fingers along the sensitive skin of her thigh. She breathed in sharply and opened her legs slightly. He gently rubbed her thigh, teasingly inching higher, then back. Abruptly he slid his hands back down her leg, lifted her foot, and slipped her shoe onto her foot.

She groaned quietly in frustration, but quieted when he shifted his attention to her other leg. His fingers glided along her pale skin, gently tickling behind her knee, along her inner thigh, then back down to the underside of her foot. He eased the other shoe onto her foot and rested both his hands on her knees, gazing up at her. She opened her eyes and looked down at him, a mock frown on her painted lips.

"You're such a tease, getting me all worked up," she chided him.

Chuckling, he stood and helped her to her feet. "Well, we do have a reservation, you know."

She made a most unladylike snorting noise and he slipped his arm around her waist, ushering her toward the door.

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Quiet music and soft light filled the small restaurant that was mostly empty; Booth and Brennan, who were sitting at a small table next to a window, were one of only a handful of couples dining out so early in the week. She took a small sip from her glass of wine while Booth fidgeted with his beer bottle. They had already placed their order and were waiting for their appetizer. He could see her eyes lingering on his vividly bruised cheek and he contemplated the appropriateness of him being bruised and battered and still recovering from injuries, on their first real date.

"It looks like it's starting to fade a bit," she said.

She was trying to be nice; he knew that if anything, the blues and purples turning to sickly yellows and greens just made it look worse. But he appreciated the effort.

"Thanks. It doesn't hurt too much anymore."

She nodded. "It's barely been two days, give it time."

"So, what do you think? Did this case make it to the top of our ten weirdest cases ever?" he asked, grinning.

"I don't know if it's the weirdest case we've ever had, but it's definitely in the top ten," she chuckled. "I mean, there was the one we thought had been abducted by aliens, the voodoo murders, the one with the witch..." she trailed off after mentioning the Hastings case.

He knew she still felt self-conscious about having briefly dated the man who ended up being the murderer, and sought to lighten the mood.

"Oh, come on, Bones," he laughed lightly, though he snaked his arm across the table and rested his hand on hers. "A guy who thought he was possessed by the Devil because he ate some poisonous berries when he was a kid, and believed he was being forced to kill innocent hikers and drink their blood? Sounds like a bad horror movie to me."

She smiled at him. "Yeah, I guess so."

A waitress approached their table carrying a platter of antipasto, set it down on their table, and asked if they needed refills on their drinks. Both declined and then spent several minutes helping themselves to the prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, marinated artichokes, and sliced tomatoes. In between bites, Booth watched her as she ate, cutting even the small pieces of food into little bites, then lifting each morsel to her lips with her fork. Her tongue darted out to lick the corner of her mouth.

"I wonder about the wife, though," Brennan said after a while.

"Who, Alicia Balch?" Brennan nodded.

"What about her?" Booth asked.

"How could she not see that her husband was, well, crazy? That he had murdered seven people?" She seemed troubled and he sensed that it wasn't just about Alicia Balch's lack of sense.

"Maybe he was able to act normal most of the time," he suggested.

Pursing her lips, she said, "I find it hard to believe that there weren't any signs of what he was doing."

"You're probably right. But sometimes people are so scared of being alone that they're willing to ignore what they don't want to see."

Brennan cringed slightly and it occurred to him that perhaps she was worried about doing the same thing. He squeezed her hand and gave her what he hoped was his most reassuring smile.

"Just because some people do that, doesn't mean you will, Bones." He paused for a minute, then grinned. "Besides, I'm not some psycho killer, so you have nothing to worry about."

"Well, I'm sure that's what Balch would have told his wife," she said, though her smile told him she was reassured.

Through dinner, they chatted amiably, though from time to time they bickered lightly over unimportant things, in that way that they so often did. As they stepped out into the cool evening air, Booth's arm around Brennan, keeping her pressed to his side, he glanced up at the sky. The stars were bright, the moon beaming down at them, and he thanked God, Gordon Gordon, Angela--and whoever else had played a part--for giving him sense enough to let go of his fears and surrender to what his heart had been telling him all along.

He noticed Brennan watching him, and when he turned his focus to her, she asked, "What's the matter?"

Before answering her, he pressed his lips gently to hers, holding her tightly to him. He broke the kiss after a moment and he winked slyly at her.

"Just thinking about how the next time we go camping, we'll get to share a sleeping bag."

She laughed, and slapped him lightly on the arm, shaking her head as he reached to tweak her sides. They teased each other all along the way to the car, then Booth opened the door for her and she slid into her seat easily. Before closing the door after her, he leaned into the car, hooked his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to him. He brushed his lips across hers, then slipped his tongue along hers. Her mouth was warm and tasted of wine and of the profiteroles they had shared. He kissed her hungrily, her hands pulling him to her, until he felt a twinge in his back from the awkward position. As he closed the door, he glanced upward again, and murmured a quiet acknowledgment of his gratitude.


End file.
